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 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE 
 WORDSWORTH COLLECTION 
 
 FOUNDED BY 
 CYNTHIA MORGAN ST. JOHN 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 VICTOR EMANUEL 
 
 OF THE CLASS OF 1919 
 
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MEMORIALS OF A TOUR 
 
 ON THE CONTINENT 
 
 TO WHICH ARE ADDED 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
 BY ROBERT SNOW ESQ. 
 
 ALU I II J ^^0!/ 
 
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 ^BISCIP. 
 
 ANGLVS\§ 
 
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 LONDON 
 
 WILLIAM PICKERING 
 
 1845 
 
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 A' 7 / ■ : 
 
 CHARL£S WH1TTINGHAM, CH1SWICK, 
 
I 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Part I. 
 MEMORIALS OF A TOUR. 
 
 NTRODUCTION to Part 1 3 
 
 Sonnet — On a View from the Brighton Railway 7 
 
 Sonnet — Windbound at Folkestone, in Lodgings 8 
 
 Sonne t — Rouen 9 
 
 A Sketch — Scarcely within reach of the Pencil 10 
 
 In the Hotel at Avignon. To an itinerant Musician 12 
 
 On the Remains of the Roman Aqueduct, called the Pont 
 
 du Gard 17 
 
 Shadows — A Fragment. Suggested by a Sea- View on the 
 
 Coast of the Mediterranean 19 
 
 Genoa. Extract from Manuscript Journal 21 
 
 Spezzia 23 
 
 Pisa. Extract from Manuscript Journal 28 
 
 Sonnet — The Baptistery at Florence 32 
 
 The Convent of Saint Mark at Florence. Extract from 
 
 Manuscript Journal 33 
 
 Sonnet — On the devotional Paintings of the early Italian 
 
 Masters 36 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 VAGE 
 
 Sonnet— On the Portrait of Leopold de' Medici when an 
 
 Infant, and on the Bust of the same when Cardinal. 37 
 The last Moments of Lorenzo de' Medici. From Sismon- 
 
 di's History 38 
 
 An historical Event, (a.d. 1174.) From Sismondi's 
 
 History 39 
 
 Sonnet — The Wall-Flower in the Coliseum 40 
 
 Sonnet — On Guido's Aurora 41 
 
 The Aqueduct 42 
 
 Nisida. Addressed to * * * * 44 
 
 Monte Barharo 46 
 
 Epistle from Miss to Miss , in Lon- 
 don. Dated, Naples, April 1844 50 
 
 Convicts at Castelamare. Extract from Manuscript Journal 56 
 
 The Walk at Naples. A conversational Sketch 58 
 
 The Contrast, or the Foster-Sisters 64 
 
 The Temple of Neptune at Paestum 67 
 
 The Ziza, or Emir's Palace 69 
 
 Segestum 71 
 
 Selinuntum 74 
 
 Sonnet — Girgenti 77 
 
 Sonnet — Washerwomen at the Fountain of Arethusa 78 
 
 The Theatre at Syracuse. Extract from Manuscript Journal 79 
 Ascent of Mount Etna. Extract from Manuscript Journal 83 
 
 Sonnet — The Cuckoo on Etna 98 
 
 Roughing it 99 
 
 Scylla and Charybdis. Extract from Manuscript Journal.. 101 
 
 In the Steam-boat off the Coast of Calabria 104 
 
 Pisa revisited j06 
 
 Sonnet — On the Paintings of Wallis 108 
 
 A Sketch at Vallombrosa 109 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 RAGi 
 
 The Sacro Eremo, or City of Hermits. The Upper Con- 
 vent of Camaldoli Ill 
 
 La Verna. Extract from Manuscript Journal 114 
 
 Fire-Flies 117 
 
 A Thought at Venice 119 
 
 Sonnet — At Venice 120 
 
 Milan Cathedral 121 
 
 The Painting of the Last Supper at Milan. Extract from 
 
 Manuscript Journal 124 
 
 Night, in the Valley of Chamonix. A Fragment..,..., 126 
 
 Passage of the Col du G£ant. Extract from Manuscript 
 
 Journal 127 
 
 The Tahle d'Hote , 145 
 
 Le Plan des Dames 14? 
 
 Farewell — Crossing the Jura in had Weather 149 
 
 Observations on Imitation, and especially Sculpture, sug- 
 gested by Works of Art at home and ahroad 152 
 
 Notes to Memorials in Prose and Verse 17? 
 
MEMORIALS IN PROSE 
 
 AND VERSE. 
 
 PART I. 
 
memorials to Prose ann ®erse* 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO PART I. 
 
 Dogberry " Truly, for mine own part, 
 
 if I were as tedious as a king, I could find in my heart to 
 bestow it all of your worship." — Much Ado about Nothing. 
 
 ^\N the 10th of October, 1843, I left London for 
 ^S a tour on the Continent with a small family 
 party. We went at first to Brighton, intending 1 to 
 cross over to Dieppe, but owing to the boisterous 
 weather we were obliged to retrace our steps, and go 
 to Folkestone : whence, after some little delay, owing 
 to the state of the weather, we crossed the Channel to 
 Boulogne, and proceeded, by Rouen, to Paris, where 
 we arrived on the 16th. On the 25th, we went by Fon- 
 tainebleau and Auxerre to Chalons sur Saone, and 
 thence, down the Saone, to Lyons, and down the 
 Rhone, to Avignon, and Nismes. Thence we went 
 
INTRODUCTION TO PART I. 
 
 to Nice and Genoa ; and thence, by Spezzia, Carrara, 
 Lucca, and Pisa, to Florence ; where we arrived on 
 the 18th of November. We remained in Florence 
 until the 29th of January ; and then proceeded to 
 Siena, and so to Rome. From Rome, after the Car- 
 nival, on the 22nd of February, we went on to Naples ; 
 whence, on the 6th of April, I embarked for Palermo, 
 and made the tour of Sicily ; returning to Naples on 
 the 7th of May. On the 19th, we left Naples, by sea, 
 for Leghorn ; whence we revisited Pisa, and Florence, 
 where we arrived on the 22nd. From Florence I 
 made an excursion to the convents of Vallombrosa, 
 Camaldoli, and Laverna; and on the 17th of June, 
 we left Florence for Bologna, Padua, and Venice, 
 where we arrived on the 27th. From Venice we went 
 by Padua, Verona, and Brescia, to Milan, where we 
 arrived on the 5th of July. We left Milan on the 
 10th, and having crossed the Alps by the Simplon 
 pass, we arrived at Martigny on the 13th ; and after 
 visiting the great St. Bernard, and making some little 
 stay at Chamonix, we arrived at Geneva on the 27th. 
 On the 30th, I returned to Chamonix ; and on the 
 5th of August, passed, by the Col du Geant, to Cour- 
 mayeur, and returned to Geneva on the 9th. On the 
 15th, we left Geneva for Paris, where we arrived on 
 the 19th. On the 5th of September, we left Paris ; 
 and on the 7th, arrived in London. 
 
INTRODUCTION TO PART I. 
 
 During this period of eleven months we kept a very- 
 regular journal in humble prose of all that occurred; 
 but in these days of uneventful and easy locomotion, 
 thrilling adventures, and hair-breadth-'scapes, are quite 
 out of date. Hence, however, a state of things ensues 
 by no means unfavourable to mental sketching ; and, 
 if the tourist be so disposed, he has ample oppor- 
 tunities of directing his attention to the poetical 
 imagery that unceasingly presents itself, as he moves 
 from place to place. Accordingly, side by side with 
 the original journal, another one, in metre, grew up ; 
 and it makes its appearance in its present dress with 
 some extracts from its more methodical companion 
 incorporated with it. It is manifest, in justice to the 
 interesting route that was taken, that much more 
 might have been done ; that many opportunities have 
 been let slip ; that many chasms might have been 
 filled up. But whoever has undertaken to keep a 
 journal of a tour, must have become aware of the 
 amount of resolution required to preserve the con- 
 tinuity of even the most matter-of-fact register ; and 
 with respect to the following trifles, the author merely 
 hopes that they may appear to wind amidst the inter- 
 ruptions which they could not but experience, with 
 their thread, like that of a running brook, now in 
 sight, and now hidden, but in reality always free and 
 unbroken. 
 
INTRODUCTION TO PART I. 
 
 New realms their theme, new cities, manners, men, 
 Like self-sown plants my random sketches grew 
 
 Now 'tis a joy these trifles of my pen, 
 Dear fellow-travellers, to collect for you. 
 
 For in your loves and memories I confide : 
 And as though still companions on the way, 
 
 We, in retrospect, by our own fire-side 
 Will journey far, on many a future day. 
 
 October 1844. 
 
MEMORIALS IN PROSE AND VERSE. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 ON A VIEW FROM THE BRIGHTON RAILWAY. 
 
 HOW the fierce engine with outrageous speed, 
 Swifter tenfold than hoof of Arab steed, 
 Flings object after object out of sight ! 
 Let me a little longer view yon height 
 Crowned with its clump of beech-trees, widely kenned ; 
 A landmark set for stranger and for friend. 
 This settled purpose almost seems a folly ; 
 O, wherefore hurry thus to foreign lands ? 
 Yes ! under other suns, on southern strands, 
 Responsive to a soothing melancholy 
 My thoughts shall thither turn, as to a haven ; 
 For I have sported there both boy and man ; 
 And hope survives that I again may scan 
 Dear names which there on living bark are graven. 
 
 Brighton, October, 1843. 
 
MEMORIALS IN 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 WINDBOUND AT FOLKESTONE, IN LODGINGS. 
 
 IMPATIENT traveller ! chide not the waves 
 And winds that, leaping from their hollow caves, 
 Forbid thy progress : let thy better reason 
 Argue submission to the clime and season. 
 But if the booming cadence of the sea, 
 These spray-flakes storm-driven fast and furiously, 
 Yon shoal of porpoises that sea-ward go, 
 Traced by their gambols, heavy, dark, and slow, 
 Fall hopelessly upon thine eye and ear, 
 And different objects thou wouldst fain require, 
 Turn within doors to view, whilst yet you may, 
 An English matron, by an English fire, 
 The last you are to see for many a day, 
 Speeding light duties, lighter for such cheer. 
 
 Folkestone, October, 1843. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 ROUEN. 
 
 HERE is the holy gloom of ancient days, 
 Tempered with modern sunshine : here a maze 
 Of streets, where rich antiquities survive, 
 Concludes in quays as busy as a hive : 
 And whether Gothic piles we contemplate ; 
 Or muse o'er speaking records of the fate 
 Of nations ; or with curious pleasure trace 
 Some kindred features in each Norman face ; 
 Or climb Saint Catherine's height, and thence survey 
 The city's spires, domes, river, bridges, ships, 
 The spirit of the place doth ever stand 
 In garments of religious holiday 
 Distinct before us, and with angel lips 
 Speaks to an English heart of Fatherland. 
 
 Rouen, October, 1843. 
 
10 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 A SKETCH. 
 
 SCARCELY WITHIN REACH OF THE PENCIL. 
 
 BETWEEN Saulieu and Chalons on the Saone, 
 There is a place called Ivry, whence the road 
 Winds round a vine-clad warm Burgundian slope, 
 Unto a waste upon a ridge of hills 
 Where summer rarely comes ; and there we saw 
 The straight white road before us, and the wains 
 That toiled along it, far between and few, 
 To all appearance motionless ; the last 
 Diminished in the distance to a speck. 
 On either side the ploughshare had wrought out 
 Deformed uncleanly furrows, timidly 
 Encroaching on the waste : low grey stone walls 
 Offered a scant protection : here and there 
 Short stunted oak and hazel, thorn and briar, 
 Struggled with skeleton fragments of the rock, 
 Denuded, worn, storm-eaten : on the right, 
 Against the sky-line loomed a single tower, 
 Whereon a melancholy telegraph 
 Was set to wave its arms aloft in air, 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 11 
 
 Like signals of distress : it was a place 
 To which I could exile the misanthrope, 
 The hater of his kind, if such there be, 
 Until the snows, and rains, and frosts, and winds, 
 Should whip him from his folly : on the left, 
 One lone square mansion stood : disconsolate 
 And tenantless it seemed ; no touch, no breath 
 Of life reposed around it ; sight nor sound 
 Was there of man, or beast, or bird, or tree. 
 
 The wind howled round its angles 
 
 Nay, my friend, 
 Why thus depict a desert ? 
 
 It may have 
 Its use : for should I lie perchance to-night 
 Courting in vain the gentle power of sleep, 
 I will bethink me of that barren waste ; 
 And by the meditations thence conceived, 
 Aimless, and objectless, compel the mind 
 To fall on sweet oblivion. 
 
 Lyons, October, 1813. 
 
12 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 IN THE HOTEL AT AVIGNON. 
 
 TO AN ITINERANT MUSICIAN. 
 
 I KNOW that tune — that voice — and, sooth, 
 Those half-wild notes are far from faint ones 
 I little dreamed in Avignon, 
 Poor boy, upon the banks of Rhone, 
 To greet thee as an old acquaintance ! 
 
 Yet I should grievously have erred, 
 Thee and thine equipage forgetting ; 
 Thy mice, thy monkey, very pets, 
 And tiny waltzing marionettes, 
 Like Liliputians pirouetting. 
 
 I know thee well ; but thou in me 
 Seem'st but to see, by intuition, 
 A Briton who will not refuse 
 To ease his purse of some few sous, 
 At a forlorn petition. 
 
 Thou in our wondrous thoroughfares 
 Hast gazed all stations and degrees on ; 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 13 
 
 And England's fair and youthful Queen, 
 And, haply, hast Prince Albert seen, 
 All in the roaring London season. 
 
 And in the smokeless morning thou 
 Hast crept from out thy starving attic 
 In Bethnal Green, or Heaven knows where, 
 To play and sing in Belgrave Square, 
 And torture ears aristocratic. 
 
 And well thou know'st that length and breadth 
 Of street named of our late Prince Regent ; 
 Where the bass-strings of fashion sound ; 
 And high and low in one compound 
 Each indescribable ingredient. 
 
 And through our hamlets thou hast borne 
 Thy freight of music late and early ; 
 And lasses, lads, and white-haired swains, 
 Have listened to thy foreign strains 
 Amongst the nodding spikes of barley. 
 
 Then turning from our northern mists 
 Towards southern skies, a sun-led rover, 
 Albeit no " luxurious slave," 
 
14 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 Didst thou not sicken o'er the wave 
 
 That heaves betwixt Boulogne and Dover ? 
 
 Then on the hills and plains of France, 
 
 With the olive and the vine, 
 
 By an intensity of yearning, 
 
 And a passionate returning, 
 
 Did not thy boyish thoughts entwine ? 
 
 Hast thou not burned with noble thirst 
 The web of nature to unravel ? 
 And felt thyself indeed a king 
 When drinking deeply at the spring 
 Of sweet intoxicating travel ? 
 
 Which sets at nought the host of thoughts 
 That world-encumbered minds beleaguer ; 
 And in a moment to the van 
 Of enterprise promotes the man, 
 Adventurous, undaunted, eager ! 
 
 And feelest thou not along the blood 
 The kindlings of a trovatore, 
 As when, in ages of romance, 
 Here in Provence, they led the dance 
 To music pitched to love and glory ? 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 15 
 
 More would I ask : but I have watch'd 
 Thy mien before those bounteous ladies ; 
 And to the measure of their boons 
 The dull recurrence of thy tunes 
 Shows how mechanical thy trade is. 
 
 A pedlar, business-like and keen, 
 All sentiment no more doth freeze 
 In bargains driven for rings and laces, 
 Than thou dost strip of all their graces 
 Thy merchandize of melodies. 
 
 And must thou starve, or Donizetti — 
 Auber — Rossini — Weber — fare ill ; 
 And dilettanti rave and fret 
 To hear each favourite canzonette 
 Trolled on thy remorseless barrel ? 
 
 And all the while are thy dark eyes 
 
 Fired with undaunted gaiety : 
 
 But O, a piteous tale of need 
 
 Is thine, which he who runs may read ; 
 
 A tale which says thou art not free. 
 
 Perambulate this thronged hotel, 
 Poor wanderer, and to thy betters 
 
16 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 Around dispense instruction meet ; 
 Shew what it is with hands and feet 
 At liberty, to grind in fetters. 
 
 Through pain, ungentle nurture, wrong, 
 Evils far worse than we inherit, 
 The hand will to the lyre impart 
 Distempered accents, when the heart 
 Is saddened, and untuned the spirit. 
 
 Avignon, November 2, 1845. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 
 
 17 
 
 ON THE 
 
 REMAINS OF THE ROMAN AQUEDUCT, 
 CALLED THE PONT DU GARD. 
 
 O'ER the gray rocks the olive's silvery green 
 Is spread — the rain-swollen Gardon foams be- 
 tween — 
 The goatherd's children under natural bowers 
 Gather for sport or need wild fruits and flowers — 
 No human habitation meets the eye — 
 In that lone spot, where, 'gainst the dark blue sky, 
 Striding the vale and its loud stream, appear 
 Arches arrayed on arches, tier on tier ; 
 Whence, as through cloud-made loopholes, lights and 
 
 shades 
 Chequer long alternating colonnades, 
 Gigantic, yet proportionate : — span that fills 
 Harmoniously the bosom of the hills ; 
 Subdued to their complexion by the wear 
 Of centuries ; rich, soft, though regular. 
 
 Yet what distempered fancy thus could dream 
 Of cleaving upper air to cross that nether stream ? 
 c 
 
18 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 Wherefore thus soared that structure ? sculptured 
 
 stone — 
 Inscription — allegory — here are none 
 To guide you. Rise, adventurous traveller ; climb 
 That rugged pathway ; scale the Bridge sublime ; 
 Hang o'er the vale on the long level height, 
 Where wild-birds rest, and mock thee in their flight ; 
 There shalt thou mark with an explorer's pride 
 The long dry channel, nor profound nor wide, 
 Which arm may fathom — which a child bestride. 
 Might not conjecture pause ere one should say 
 'Twas here a living streamlet found a way ? 
 Yet to that channel was such rill consigned : 
 And art, and fine constructive powers of mind, 
 Were taxed the costly miracle to frame ; 
 Supply for human wants its single aim. 
 
 Rome, who inherited the World, lies dead : 
 Yet do her pomps, cares, triumphs, overspread 
 The Nations, in distinct memorials wrought 
 For all time ; or, as here, in Relics fraught 
 With usefulness made glorious. Now that rill, 
 Emancipate by time, flows down its native hill ; 
 Where it shall freely slacken or run o'er 
 When, with her ruins, Rome shall be no more. 
 
 Nismes, November °2, 1843. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 19 
 
 SHADOWS— A FRAGMENT. 
 
 SUGGESTED BY A SEA-VIEW ON THE COAST 
 OF THE MEDITERRANEAN. 
 
 From this tall cliff 
 We look with bird's-eye view on clearest sea, 
 Of depth we vaguely guess at; and the waves, 
 Lucid as amethyst, appear to furrow 
 The sunken rocks, sea-weeds, and golden sands 
 Far down, with fleeting bands of shade, with light, 
 Soft light, between ! 
 
 Thus not alone do things 
 Opake and rigid, but transparent things, 
 Endowed with perfect laxity of atoms, 
 Fling shadows from them. 'Tis the same with things 
 Of half-material mould, and subtlest texture — 
 Fumes, exhalations, and scarce visible clouds ; 
 Hairs, fibres, gossamer, and thistle-down : 
 Nay, in broad sunshine, minute holes and pores 
 Arrest the flow of light, and from them breaks 
 A surf and foam of light, developed in 
 Capricious forms and hues, hard to define ; 
 
20 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 And so we cannot choose but call them shadows. 
 
 And because spirits may be gross compared 
 
 With light, they may have shadows ; and because 
 
 They may be good or evil, it is plain 
 
 The wholesome or unwholesome shade they cast 
 
 Upon the dial of existence here, 
 
 May work much good or evil upon earth. 
 
 Oneglia, November, 1843. 
 
FROSE AND VERSE. 21 
 
 GENOA. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MANUSCRIPT JOURNAL. 
 
 WE were quite prepared beforehand to be pleased 
 with Genoa, and were not disappointed. The 
 impressions as to general effect which that city con- 
 veys are of a singularly novel and forcible character- 
 Genoa has in profusion its marble palaces, whose walls 
 are arrayed in all their ancient solid and costly magni- 
 ficence ; but I would chiefly dwell upon the perpetual 
 intervention of variously coloured architectural views, 
 painted in close juxtaposition with, and even upon, 
 these same marble walls : so that you may really 
 pause in the streets, and imagine you are gazing at 
 the scenery of a theatre : yet from the effects of pro- 
 portion, aided by the rich tone of the climate, there 
 results truth and harmony from that which, elsewhere, 
 would only suggest the idea of a ludicrous attempt at 
 deception. The streets are narrow and sombre, but 
 they are not gloomy ; and you may see overhead a 
 strip of blue sky broken by the palace cornices ; whilst 
 
22 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 in the side lanes the sunshine streams from above, as 
 through an absolute slit. But when the sky is over- 
 cast, the want of illumination destroys all the singu- 
 larity and beauty of these effects. The prevailing idea 
 is still that of the scenery of a theatre; but of a 
 theatre as seen by an insufficient light. 
 
 Again, the dimensions of the great hall of the ducal 
 palace are truly noble ; but for the most part the or- 
 naments which it contains are the veriest trash imagi- 
 nable. The statues in the niches (if they deserve the 
 name of statues) are merely counterfeits, made up of 
 plaster, rags, and paper ; but it is quite surprising how 
 fine is the effect thus demonstrated to be attainable by 
 the force of proportion and colouring alone. 
 
 Genoa, November, 1843. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 23 
 
 SPEZZIA. 
 
 THIS last hill top indeed a noble gulf 
 Reveals! How call you it? The gulf of Spezzia. 
 Yon mountain that its darkling serrate peaks 
 Thrusts far into the sky, is near Carrara : 
 The further snowy range is Apennine. 
 Now by this road with zigzag traverses 
 And turns abrupt, through ancient olive groves, 
 And graceful champaign thick with leafy rows 
 Of tall elms married to festooning vines, 
 Smoothly we drop into the plain, and now 
 Are come to Spezzia ; where the peasant girls 
 Surmount their brows with pigmy hats of straw, 
 Scarce half a span in width. At Spezzia, he 
 That feels, may hourly, without seeking, find 
 Ecstatic themes for pencil or for pen, 
 For they will come to him. But say, shall we 
 Embark, and meditate at ease, and coast 
 Or stretch away, with oar or sail, as list 
 The winds, and so explore the gulf? Agreed. 
 Here is a blithe Ligurian sailor-boy 
 Will be our pilot, and the breeze is fair. 
 
24 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 These were the shores the Corsican, with aim 
 To make a foot-ball of the world, pricked down 
 Upon the outspread map, and said, they shall 
 Have greatness thrust upon them : navies launched 
 From Spezzia's arsenals shall in thunder walk 
 The ocean : wealth and power shall circle thence, 
 As from the heart of empire without bound ! 
 Words as resultless as the flagging breeze, 
 That ends in silence. But our converse here 
 Should be, methinks, with nature. Let us float 
 To where, a natural prodigy ! a fresh 
 Unfathomed water-spring, some cables' lengths 
 From shore, a fountain broken up beneath 
 The everlasting bases of the hills, 
 Bursts upwards in a column through the sea, 
 Yet with the briny flood is scarcely mixed, 
 Raised in a glassy convex visibly, 
 Above the surface of the vexed salt stream. 
 
 Turn now this way. By yonder narrow creek 
 The savage Magra pours his torrent flood 
 Into the bay ; and further yet (your eyes 
 Are good) among the cliffs you may descry 
 The fishing town Lerici; once the home 
 Of hapless Shelley. Well his tale is known, 
 So touching, and so touchingly disclosed 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 25 
 
 By her with whom the mellow grief survives : 
 
 But it is good to dwell upon it here. 
 
 Here in his bauble boat the poet sailed 
 
 With every breeze that blew ; rode still afloat 
 
 At morn, and eve, or weltering at mid-day ; 
 
 And with imaginative soul drank in 
 
 The inspiration of Italian skies. 
 
 Oft paddled to some cavern in the rocks 
 
 By moonlight, on the calm phosphoric sea, 
 
 There to pour out melodious verse, what time 
 
 The village girls, half sea-maids, wildly sang 
 
 To the reverberant rocks, strange madrigals, 
 
 Or footed in the surf their gamesome rounds. 
 
 Fearless, one summer-morn he left the bay 
 
 For the wide ocean, and with prosperous winds 
 
 Sailed to Livorno : but on his return, 
 
 By those who stood on shore, a thunder-cloud 
 
 Enveloping the ocean like a pall, 
 
 Was seen to blot his vessel from all view. 
 
 It passed off, and he was not : not a speck, 
 
 Howe'er minute, was on the ocean : O 
 
 The heart-sickening hours for those who watched for him 
 
 With chill forebodings, and with fluttering hearts ! 
 
 There lay the uniform blank of sea, that gave 
 
 No certain tidings ! but left ample place 
 
 For miserable doubt, report, and hope 
 
26 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 Beyond all hope : the spot alone was marked 
 
 Where he was last seen on the purple sea.* 
 
 But soon the truth was manifest. His corse 
 
 Was washed on shore. His boat was after found 
 
 In twice five fathom sunk. But here the tale 
 
 Ends not. Perhaps the law's severity 
 
 That from dire pestilence defends this coast 
 
 To you may be unknown. The public weal 
 
 Requires it, and so runs the law's decree, 
 
 (In truth, severer seeming than is need,) 
 
 That all things cast on shore be straight consumed 
 
 To ashes, and be scattered to the winds. 
 
 And thus the rites of burial were denied 
 
 To one, a Briton, in a foreign land 
 
 Untimely dead. And they who loved him best, 
 
 By supplications and unwearied prayers, 
 
 Hardly prevailed to wrest the stubborn law 
 
 Aside thus far, a bare permission gaining 
 
 To gather up his ashes. A dear friend 
 
 Lighted the funeral pile, and the remains 
 
 Collected. And when all at length was done, 
 
 In self-devoted friendship, how unfeigned ! 
 
 He came with scorched and blistered hands, and stood 
 
 Before her, who a wife's most grievous loss 
 
 * Verbatim from Mrs. Shelley's account of the event. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 27 
 
 Bewailed, and to her charge the casket gave 
 That held all left on earth of one so dear. 
 I knew not Shelley ; but if e'er the gift 
 Of song on mortal was bestowed, 'twas his. 
 Often and often have his melodies, 
 Sweeter than music heard in morning dreams, 
 Drawn down my cheeks refined luxurious tears. 
 I will no more. His memory must live. 
 His ashes, gathered in a golden urn, 
 Repose at Rome, by Cestius' pyramid, 
 In a sweet spot where earliest violets blow, 
 Which you, I hope, will visit soon with me. 
 
 But the sun sinks apace ; and in the east 
 Mysteriously the snowy Apennines, 
 With unimaginable tints of gray, 
 Come out upon the sky emblazoned o'er 
 With the reflection of his western throne, 
 Waited upon by flaming ministers. 
 The universal canopy of heaven 
 Is flecked with fire ; cold lies the earth beneath ; 
 But under such a firmament, how fair ! 
 
 Spezzia, November, 1843. 
 
28 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 PISA. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MANUSCRIPT JOURNAL. 
 
 PISA'S four curiosities, the leaning tower, the ca- 
 thedral, the Baptistery, and the Campo Santo, 
 stand together on a smooth level grassy space, tranquil 
 and appropriate, with the effect of the precincts of some 
 of our cathedral closes. The tower leans more than we 
 had expected. It stands well away from other build- 
 ings, but near enough to the cathedral to group finely 
 with it. The tint which these marble edifices have ac- 
 quired is most lovely ; golden as the sun itself ; so dif- 
 ferent from the tint of the lichens and weather-stains 
 of a more northern climate ; and the variations of the 
 shadowy effect of their open pillar-work at all hours of 
 the day relieve the dreariness of unmitigated sunshine. 
 The flat ground deceives you as to the size of the build- 
 ings with the grandest effect. From the summit of 
 the leaning tower there is a fine mountain view in the 
 direction of Carrara. On the other side, you have 
 Pisa beneath you, and far beyond, Leghorn, and the 
 Sea. On entering the leaning tower you gradually 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 29 
 
 alter your first impressions, until you arrive at consi- 
 dering the tower as upright; so that, on quitting it, the 
 eye for a short time considers every other building as 
 awry. 
 
 Though some of the architectural details of the in- 
 terior of the cathedral are open to criticism, yet the 
 effect is very impressive ; and the building contains a 
 profusion of works of art of the highest merit. 
 
 In the Campo Santo we directed our attention solely 
 to the frescos. Never before was I made acquainted 
 with wonders that conveyed to the mind such elevated 
 ideas of the art of painting. Perhaps the story of 
 Abraham, by Benozzo Gozzoli, is as finely told as any. 
 The countenance of the Patriarch, after receiving the 
 divine command to sacrifice his son, is fraught with an 
 expression of obedience, with something of a dignified 
 surprise at the importance of the message, thus almost 
 carrying out Abraham's character as a Prophet. Equal- 
 ly admirable is the fresco of the cultivation of the vine, 
 and the drunkenness of Noah. In the fresco of the last 
 Judgment by Orgagna there is marvellous power and 
 dignity ; and the division of the Inferno into several 
 distinct and separate chambers of horror, resembles 
 the awful reiteration which we find in scripture of the 
 words " where the worm dieth not, and the fire is 
 not quenched." Part of another fresco entitled " the 
 
30 MEMORIALS TN 
 
 Triumph of Death," also by Orgagna, is a perfect illus- 
 tration of the following lines in one of Wordsworth's 
 finest sonnets — 
 
 " Methought I saw the footsteps of a throne 
 
 Which mists and vapours from mine eyes did shroud — 
 
 Nor view of whom did sit thereon allowed ; 
 
 But all the steps and ground about were strown 
 
 With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone 
 
 Ever put on ; a miserable crowd, 
 
 Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud, 
 
 ' Thou art our King, O Death, to thee we groan ! ' " 
 
 The fresco of the Universe by Pietro Orvieto, is 
 thus represented. A solemn figure of the Creator 
 holds, in one vast sphere, the concentric spheres of the 
 earth, water, fire, the moon, the sun, and the zodiac; 
 and those of the nine orders of angelic natures. The 
 following Sonnet, and the succeeding couplet, were 
 once legible beneath. 
 
 Voi che avvisate questa dipintura 
 Di Dio pietoso, sommo Creatore, 
 Lo qual fe' tutte cose con amore, 
 Pesate, numerate, ed in misura. 
 In nove grade angelica natura 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 31 
 
 In ello empirio ciel pien di splendore, 
 Colui che non si muove ed e motore 
 Ciascuna cosa fece buona e pura. 
 Levate gli occhi del vostro intelletto : 
 Considerate quanto e ordinato 
 Lo mondo universale ; e con affetto 
 Lodate lui che l'ha si ben creato : 
 Pensate di passare a tal diletto 
 Tra gli Angeli dove e ciascun beato. 
 
 Per questo mondo si vede la gloria, 
 
 Lo basso, e'l mezzo, e l'alto in questa storia.* 
 
 In the Baptistery, the carved pulpit, the font, and 
 the sound of the harmonious echo, are the chief objects 
 of attraction. 
 
 * Copied from the work published by Mount on the frescos 
 of the Campo Santo of Pisa. 
 
MEMORIALS IN 
 
 SONNET.— THE BAPTISTERY, 
 FLORENCE.' 
 
 HERE, on bronze gates, where scriptural groupings 
 throng, 
 Ghiberti ! Thou hast failed not to express 
 Avenging Judith's awful loveliness ; 
 And Miriam's utterance of triumphal song — 
 Gates not unworthy Paradise, 2 though sprung 
 Of mortal mould. Through these, in decent grace, 
 The wives of Florence with their infants pace, 
 And towards the Font in silence glide along. 
 On high, the Dome's mosaic, as with the voice 
 Of Revelation, doth unfold its plan 
 By Symbols figured in its gorgeous span ; 
 And holy men, with upturned gaze, rejoice 
 To read these words, enscrolled 'midst wreathing 
 
 flowers — 
 Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, 
 
 Powers. 
 
 Florence, December, 1843. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 33 
 
 THE CONVENT OF SAINT MARK 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MANUSCRIPT JOURNAL. 
 
 TO-DAY I went again to the Dominican Con- 
 vent and church of San Marco. In the church 
 is the celebrated crucifix painted by Giotto ; and in the 
 Chapter Hall, the cloisters of the Convent, and the 
 corridors upstairs adjoining the dormitories, are many- 
 exquisite and unique specimens in fresco of the paint- 
 ings of the Fra Beato Angelico da Fiesoli, a brother 
 of the order, born in 1387, died in 1455. Nothing can 
 equal the peculiar calm sublimity of the works of this 
 heavenly minded artist, perhaps the most interesting 
 of all the great Fathers of painting. I would particu- 
 larly instance the large fresco of the Crucifixion ; that 
 of the Annunciation of the Virgin ; that of the Virgin 
 and Child attended by Saints ; that of the Coronation 
 of the Virgin ; and that of Christ visiting the spirits 
 in prison. In the convent I paid a visit to Fra Serafino, 
 one of the brethren. He received me with great civi- 
 
 D 
 
34 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 lity, and showed me his own paintings ; and, in truth, 
 he is no mean artist. He also showed me, adjoining 
 his own, the cell that was occupied by the ill-fated 
 Savonarola. In his own cell he had several singing 
 birds in cages, and others hopping about the room 
 quite tame. On one of the walls, in a bad light, and 
 in a state which shows it has recently suffered by ex- 
 ternal violence, is a fresco of the Virgin and Child by 
 the grand old painter Fra Bartolommeo, who also was 
 a brother of the order about the year 1480. The 
 design of this fresco is very grand. The child is of 
 almost gigantic proportions, such as we can conceive 
 that a Heathen artist would have adopted in order 
 to express his idea of an infant Hercules or Jupiter. 
 The Christian artist seems to have aimed at the em- 
 bodying of a prophecy ; at the representation of a child 
 that should grow to all that was noble and princely : 
 born to us in order to take the government upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Fra Serafino is in the prime of life ; intelligent, and 
 apparently happy in his profession of holiness, and in 
 his own quiet pursuits. I met upon the stairs another 
 of the Brethren, who was very old and asthmatic ; and 
 as he stopped for breath upon the landing place, I saw 
 him turn to the wall, unobserved as he thought, and 
 kiss a small picture of the Virgin with the sincerest 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 35 
 
 and most touching air of devotion : then, as I passed 
 him, he saluted me in the most paternal and affection- 
 ate manner. A third I saw for some distance coming 
 along the corridor, keeping close to the wall, with a 
 slow uncertain step, and a fixed sidelong look. As he 
 approached, he took no notice whatever of me ; but I 
 could see that his eye was fixed intently upon some 
 object near me, which I could not make out; but in a 
 few moments, with a key which he held under his 
 gown, I saw him make a dart at the key-hole of the 
 door of his cell, close by me, which he entered, and 
 locked himself in. " Ha mezza mente, Signore I " 
 said my attendant to me — " povero Padre Leone ! " 
 
 " Mary Mother, 
 
 Shield and sain the Idiot Brother ! " 
 
 Florence, January, 1844. 
 
38 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 SONNET 
 
 ON THE DEVOTIONAL PAINTINGS OF THE EARLY 
 ITALIAN MASTERS. 
 
 GREAT Patriarchs of the pencil ! I have learned 
 Of you the power of angelic art 
 To rule the meditations of the heart ; 
 Nay, have from Guido and Coreggio turned, 
 Shunning the niceties of the critic mart, 
 As though to choose with you the better part. 
 Ye limner Fathers ! the repose — the love — 
 Your hands have over Saint and Prophet thrown 
 Ye must have drawn from visions from above ; 
 Ye only, in the deep exstatic tone 
 Of souls sustained on earth by Seraph's food, 
 Have mastered the expression undefiled 
 Of the offending Adam to his God 
 By mediation sweetly reconciled. 
 
 Florence, December, 1843. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 37 
 
 SONNET 3 
 
 ON THE PORTRAIT OF LEOPOLD DE* MEDICI WHEN 
 
 AN INFANT, AND ON THE BUST OF THE 
 
 SAME WHEN CARDINAL. 
 
 LOOK on this image, and on this ; behold 
 The pencilled work, wherein the child doth lie, 
 With innocence depicted in his eye, 
 Cradled in purple and embroidered gold : 
 Then in the bust's uncompromising mould, 
 Mark the expression of the man, with lust 
 And violence deformed — revenge — distrust — 
 Worse than the historic page would dare unfold \ 
 Whilst these thy later traits amazed we scan, 
 Proud Medici I we reck not on the shrine 
 Of Art what gems were laid by gift of thine. 
 This change, for which degeneracy is no namej 
 Astounds ; nor may the boldest tongue proclaim 
 Aloud, " The Child is Father of the Man." 
 
 Florence, January, 1844. 
 
MEMORIALS IN 
 
 THE LAST MOMENTS OF LORENZO 
 DE' MEDICI. 
 
 FROM SISMONDl's HISTORY. 
 
 UPON his death-bed when Lorenzo lay, 
 He chose Savonarola to absolve him. 
 Then said Savonarola, " Dost thou trust 
 In Heaven's forgiveness ?" and Lorenzo said, 
 " Yea, heartily ! " The monk yet further asked, 
 " Wilt thou yield up all thou hast gained unjustly ? " 
 With faltering speech Lorenzo said, " I will." 
 Then said the holy man, " And wilt thou grant 
 Immunity to Florence — aye or no ? " 
 Whereon Lorenzo motioned him away, 
 With cold thin hands, and fixed regard ; and then 
 Turned to the wall in silence, and expired. 
 
 Florence, 1844. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 
 
 AN HISTORICAL EVENT. 
 
 (A. D. 1174.) FROM SISMONDl's HISTORY. 
 
 WHEN the might of Barbarossa 
 Stern Ancona did blockade, 
 There a warrior, faint with hunger, 
 Drooped, and leaned upon his blade. 
 
 A nursing mother that beheld him, 
 Plucked her infant from her breast, 
 
 Rushed to aid the famished hero, 
 Loosed his helmet, and addressed : 
 
 " Drink, drink ; I blush not thus to greet thee ; 
 
 These veins run o'er with patriot food ; 
 God be thanked I for my country 
 
 May boast this way to shed my blood : — 
 
 " Go thou forth refreshed to battle : — 
 
 I will every hope renew, 
 Presaging of thy foster-brother, 
 
 By the deeds thou now shalt do ! " 
 
 Florence, December, 1843, 
 
40 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 THE WALL-FLOWER IN THE COLISEUM. 
 
 WHERE Emperors sate, with fourscore thousand 
 more, 
 Plebeians, knights, and senators, and dames, 
 Intoxicate with gladiatorial games, 
 From morn till eve ; where rose the loud uproar 
 Above the undulating canopy, 
 That a refined luxurious lustre shed 
 Upon the victors, and the vanquished 
 Trained with theatric grace to fall and die ; 
 By soft regeneration, not decay, 
 And mellowing influence of sun and shower, 
 Nature is clothing arch and corridor 
 With shrubs and grasses ; moulding to her sway 
 Thee, Coliseum ; and thy wall-flowers tell, 
 Methinks, where once some pitying tear drops fell. 
 
 Rome, February, 1844. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 41 
 
 SONNET 
 
 ON GUIDO'S AURORA. 
 
 AURORA here saluting the eastern height, 
 Floats, scattering roses along heaven's high-way, 
 Before the chariot of the Lord of day ; 
 About whose wheels in choral group unite 
 Sweet morning Hours, "the best of dark and bright ;" 
 Light shapes, whose draperies stream upon the wind 
 Their train creates, wind which they leave behind, 
 Speeding amain from the ebon gates of night. 
 On high, a boy attendant wings his flight, 
 And bears a torch instinct with living flame, 
 That points towards the West, with onward aim ; 
 Forerunner of the car itself of Light, 
 That the whole sphere of air with glory fills, 
 Above that deep blue sea, those deep blue hills. 
 
 Rome, February, 1844. 
 
42 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 THE AQUEDUCT. 
 
 RELIC ! that wouldst still bestride 
 The campagna drear and wide, 
 With indomitable pride, 
 I see thy multitudinous arches 
 Straggling on by broken marches : 
 Their continuity is lost ; 
 Yet they are a gallant host : 
 For in their very wreck is seen 
 The soul of Roman discipline ; 
 And thus the mind fills up the line, 
 Aqueduct, that once was thine. 
 
 The fountain of the Alban hills, 
 No more thy lofty channel fills. 
 From thy thousand piers of stone 
 The bounding pulse — the life — is gone : 
 Thou art a shattered skeleton. 
 But the imperishable fountain 
 Bubbles from its native mountain ; 
 And in the joyous eye of day 
 Its unimprisoned waters stray 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 43 
 
 In glad excursions ; winding back 
 Towards the straight and solemn track 
 Of thy foundations, and around, 
 With a low mysterious sound, 
 Nightly, daily, at thy feet 
 Singing, " liberty is sweet." 
 
 Rome, February, 1844. 
 
44 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 NISIDA. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO 
 
 
 LADY, they told me whilst thou didst sojourn 
 In Naples, queen of that delicious Bay 
 Where ocean, earth, air, heaven, make day and night 
 Music together, that thou didst give birth 
 To a dear girl, thine own sweet portraiture ; 
 And there, thy sorrows ended, rising from 
 Thy couch, and from thy lattice leaning forth 
 To drink in renovation from the air, 
 Thine eye glanced o'er the sapphire sea, and fell 
 On the green island cliff of Nisida. 
 Thy baby was the pilot of thy thoughts : 
 And thy maternal eyes could see no more 
 In things that breathed of freshness and of glory, 
 Than living type of her. Then, half aloud, 
 Thou saidst, " Great Nature prompts me, lovely Isle ; 
 Yes, Nisida ! thine own harmonious name 
 My child at the baptismal font shall bear." 
 It was a mother's random thought, conceived 
 And uttered on the instant : but such thoughts, 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 45 
 
 Like prophecy, from pious germ rise up 
 
 In after days : and trust me, gentle Lady, 
 
 Thy Nisida, in childhood, youth, and age, 
 
 Shall, like her island namesake, be beloved 
 
 Of Nature ; the blue heavens shall smile above her 
 
 Fair shall she be, and her horizon fair. 
 
 And though nor sea, nor shore, nor any creature, 
 
 Is from vicissitude emancipate, 
 
 Yet she, thy Nisida, shall stand amidst 
 
 The storms of life with peaceful dignity 
 
 Upon her brow, and shall with temperance 
 
 Of soul abate the fervid joy of days 
 
 Too prosperous. The Italian fisher-boy 
 
 Nightly shall sing the praises of his Isle ; 
 
 But we will sing another Nisida. 
 
 Naples, February, 1844. 
 
46 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 MONTE BARBARO. 
 
 " TPVEAR boy, dost thou remember when we scaled 
 
 -*— -/ The Monte Barbaro, volcanic height ? " 
 Thus shall I often ask in days to come ; 
 And thou wilt answer me with conscious smiles, 
 And words of glad remembrance. And in truth 
 Within the horizon all was beautiful 
 As heart could wish, or earth bestow : we saw 
 A map-like realm of wonders, aye at odds 
 With fable and reality. 
 
 Beyond 
 The Monte Nuovo lay the Lucrine, Styx, 
 Avernus, and Fusaro, and the coasts 
 Of mystic Cumae ; Baise and its port ; 
 The Mare Morto, and Elysian fields ; 
 The triple peak of Ischia, fiery once ; 
 And in the south, Miseno, classic cape, 
 Dowered through all ages with a lasting name. 
 Here lay thy ancient mole, Puteoli ; 
 There, in the distance, Capri ; Nisida 
 Hard by, and Solfatara : o'er the bay 
 Sorrento, and the snow-clad craggy peaks 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 47 
 
 Above Castelamare ; whence the eye 
 Passed over mount Astruni, and reposed 
 On Naples and Vesuvius. 
 
 What to thee 
 Was this array of names, free-hearted boy ? 
 Or their associations with the lore 
 Of science, history, books, or old or new ? 
 Thou hadst not in imagination sailed 
 With Pliny to Vesuvius ; hadst not conned 
 The modern theories philosophy 
 Hath weaved around these coasts ; nor tracked in thought 
 Reverting to the lore of other days, 
 Tiberius to his loathsome den in Capri ; 
 Nor learnt what prodigality of wealth 
 And luxury encompassed like a flood 
 Imperial Baiae, gemmed with gorgeous fanes, 
 And costliest marble palaces, and towers, 
 Encroaching on the deep ; retreats beloved 
 For sweet oblivion of solicitude, 
 By men who made a footstool of the world. 
 Nor through those realms to Maro dedicate, 
 Heardst thou his harp immortal, thrilling yet 
 With rise and fall harmonious. 
 
 Yet the scene 
 For thee had young delights, that of themselves 
 Came flocking : glanced thine eye from shore to sea, 
 
48 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 Following the lights and shadows of the clouds, 
 That now illumed, now half eclipsed, the sails 
 Suspended in the offing : far beneath 
 Thou didst point out upon the waveless blue 
 The dotted circle of the fisher's net, 
 Hauled in upon the shore by slow degrees : 
 And at thy very feet the violet 
 With its perfume, the lizard with its hues, 
 Wooed thy attention. 
 
 Then my heart was glad : 
 For I had gazed on lake, and sea, and shore, 
 Harbour, volcano, promontory, isle, 
 Where not the funeral wing of time alone 
 Had swept the region ; but full many a change 
 Wrought by the earthquake, and the lava stream, 
 And to be wrought in the still smouldering soil, 
 Was traceable : and though the scene was rife 
 With natural beauties, yet to me it shewed 
 Like ruin upon ruin : and I fed 
 The while, with bosom cold, yet incomposed, 
 On thoughts engendered by the thoughts of others 
 Till understanding had almost usurped 
 By imperceptible degrees the throne 
 Of genuine feeling. Then I turned to thee, 
 My dear companion, and I thanked thee, yes, 
 I blessed thee for the equipoise of soul, 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 49 
 
 Sweet compensation, which thy gesture, look, 
 And voice, brought to me, from the sunny side 
 Of our existence, making knowledge stand 
 Abashed and silenced ! 
 
 At some future day 
 Haply the thronging wonders of these shores 
 Thou wilt revisit — I shall not be with thee ; 
 Yet let my prayer be this ; albeit in years 
 And intellect matured, mayst thou return 
 With all the freshness of thy childish days, 
 Adorning truth and love proportionate 
 To the expanded blossom of thy powers ; 
 And with some dear companion at thy side. 
 
 Naples, March, 1844. 
 
50 MEMORIALS I» 
 
 EPISTLE 
 
 FROM MISS TO MISS , IN 
 
 LONDON. DATED NAPLES, APRIL, 1844. 
 
 HERE at Naples we are for this sweetest of winters ; 
 But I think, for the sake of my journal, 'tis pity 
 We have travelled so far with scarce any adventures ; 
 
 Nor have even been rifled by whiskered banditti. 
 But Naples, I find, is a paradise sunny, 
 
 And a place for the picturesque famous, and for all 
 
 The most delicate cameos and bracelets of coral, 
 To help us to kill time, and squander our money. 
 And daily I've walked, though the weather was squally, 
 And rumpled me sadly, in the Villa Reale ; 
 And I booked in three days, would you think it, my dear ? 
 More bows, smirks, and smiles, than at home in a year. 
 So to drawbacks and bores I at first bade defiance : 
 But, alas ! I am sadly knocked up by the lions. 
 
 Our parties of pleasure, or so said to be, 
 Consist of Papa, Tom, the Colonel, and me, 
 And that odious Miss Skim-milk : between me and you, 
 Though Papa likes her much, she's a terrible blue. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 51 
 
 She and I are best friends, but I'm shrewdly suspecting 
 She would fish in the water my heart's-ease was wrecked 
 
 in; 
 But she soon shall find out who must go to the wall, 
 If she casts her sheep's eyes at the Colonel — that's all ! 
 
 T'other day, though Miss S. said the weather was 
 " pluvious," 
 On a bright sunny morning we went to Vesuvius. 
 And when we got there, she declared 'twould demean her 
 To be carried by men in a vile portandina. 
 But for my part, I was not so squeamish or nice; 
 And up on their shoulders I jumped in a trice. 
 But I own I was frightened when on the steep lava, 
 They quarrelled, and swore, in their foreign palaver ! 
 And whilst I to rights was my petticoats putting, 
 They kept looking up, without minding their footing. 
 At the top every way they desired me to look ; 
 But I vow I was blinded with vapours and smoke ; 
 And coughed, sneezed, and retched, all the while I was 
 
 picking 
 The wing of a very consumptive young chicken. 
 But I left, in descending, Miss S. in the distance ; 
 
 And flew down with such slips, glissadings, and 
 dashes, 
 That although I secured the dear Colonel's assistance, 
 
52 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 I was up to I can't tell you where in the ashes. 
 Miss Skim-milk declared the jaunt cost her a sonnet : 
 But I know what it cost me — shoes, jupon, and bonnet. 
 
 Next we went to Pompeii, the city, you know, 
 
 That was buried for ages in lava and cinders ; 
 But they've dug out the streets, and each house is a 
 show, 
 Though you find neither furniture, roofs, doors, nor 
 windows. 
 Here Miss S. who was quite in her element, said, 
 As she threw up her eyelids, and twisted her head, 
 " O yes ! 'twas a city, indeed, of the dead ! " 
 But I wish you had seen how she looked at me bitterly, 
 When I said, " La ! my dear, that's in Rogers's Italy !" 
 
 The next day we went to the Grotto del Cane : 
 Though the Colonel and Tom said its fame was all 
 
 blarney. 
 'Tis a small dark recess that all others surpasses 
 For detestable vapours, and poisonous gases. 
 And a keeper attends, with an atmosphere vile 
 Himself all environed of garlic and oil. 
 This thorough Italian, in consideration 
 Of certain carlini, for the edification 
 Of folks who for marvellous spectacles itch, 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 53 
 
 Without caring a pin whether wrong it or right is,. 
 Throws a dog into spasms, the barbarous wretch, 
 
 By immersing it in what they call the mephitis. 
 And the day was so hot, and the place was so tainted, 
 I declare I'd an excellent mind to have fainted. 
 For the turf was as smooth as though purposely made 
 For a girl at full length by her swain to be laid ; 
 With the wave of the Lago for mixing quite handy 
 With eau-de-Cologne, or the least drop of brandy. 
 But to-day 'twas no use ; for that wicked blue-stocking, 
 As usual, her arm with the dear man's was locking ; 
 And she prosed, and she lectured, concerning the worst 
 
 air 
 That ever was scented by mortal : but first, ere 
 With the cause of the mischief such wiseacres load ye, 
 They should say which smells strongest, the cave or 
 custode. 
 
 To Pozzuoli (for now it grew later and later) 
 We were hurried to see the old amphitheatre. 
 But it looked like a place which they throw all their 
 
 dirt in ; 
 And it never had any snug boxes to flirt in r 
 And we passed Monte Nuovo that rose in a night ; 
 Don't you think half the folks must have died of the 
 
 fright ? 
 
54 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 And went on, by the route of the guide books, that 
 
 doom ye 
 To Lucrinus, Fusaro, and Baiae, and Cumae, 
 And Styx, and Elysium, all equally gloomy; 
 And a cavern where eggs are done hard in a fountain 
 Of boiling hot water that springs in the mountain : 
 But we could not help thinking 'twas better to turn us 
 About when we came to the shades of Avernus : 
 For Tom wisely exclaimed " We came out for a revel ; 
 But this looks too like going straight to the devil." 
 But Miss Skim-milk declared 'twas a meal for the mind; 
 A feast of true taste, intellectual, refined : 
 But I thought 'twas made up of an infinite deal 
 Of old rubbish, and reckoned our lunch the true meal. 
 And whilst we were eating, two dark contadinas 
 
 Were performing before us the dance Tarantella ; 
 But I felt all the time that their looks and demeanours 
 
 Were such as would make me grow speedily yellow ; 
 For I freely confess I was jealous my lover 
 Saw their kicks and their flings, and felt glad when 
 'twas over. 
 
 Then with spirits worn out, almost jaded to death, 
 We got into the coach to recover our breath ; 
 But I rallied when through Pausilippo we past, 
 And saw the gas lights on the Chiaja, at last. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 55 
 
 All the evening Papa and Miss Skim-milk were hunting 
 In Virgil for Cumse, and Styx, and Misenus ; 
 
 But I and the Colonel each other sat fronting, 
 And nobody saw the looks passing between us. 
 
 And now I have told you what books I am reading, 
 Perhaps one of these days I may set my plough speeding. 
 But, dearest, not even a match shall dissever 
 From you, her who writes herself, 
 truly, 
 
 your's ever, 
 
 P.S. 
 
 Poor Miss S. who, you see, is my darling aversion, 
 In Lord Shrimp's yacht is gone on a sailing excursion. 
 It would suit her romance to sit under the awning, 
 And talk of blue billows, and stuff, half the morning. 
 But I trust, by this time, she is, nose, lips, and forehead, 
 The complexion of tallow — delightfully horrid. 
 You must know some one else might have had an invite; 
 But, for my part, I don't choose to risk looking white ; 
 But if she is bilious, a squall may recruit her ; 
 And I'm sure the blue Grotto at Capri will suit her. 
 
56 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 CONVICTS AT CASTELAMARE. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MANUSCRIPT JOURNAL. 
 
 BOTH here and elsewhere, along the coast, I have 
 often been struck with the appearance of the 
 gangs of convicts, "fast bound in misery and iron," 
 condemned to toil for various periods of years in the 
 stone-quarries by the sea side. These localities are 
 always singularly beautiful; and, with the attending 
 circumstances, take great hold on the mind ; for it is 
 manifest that wherever the blue sea of the south rolls 
 up to an abrupt line of rocky cliff, the scene, in all 
 weathers, calm or stormy, is imposing and interesting- 
 And when the gangs of convicts are at work, the 
 clank of their fetters, and the blows of their tools, in 
 measure perhaps with some wild song, and the distri- 
 bution about the huge grey masses of rock of the men 
 in their coloured dresses, in active groups, and strained 
 attitudes, in strong contrast with the motionless sentry 
 standing over them, the combination presents as strange 
 and impressive a sight as can be imagined. It is also 
 a scene replete with the most magnificent studies that 
 a painter could desire ; and one about which we can 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 57 
 
 imagine the shade of Salvator Rosa still to be linger- 
 ing. Nor is the picture less striking when they rest 
 from their labours at noon. You may then, if so in- 
 clined, study more closely their countenances, and 
 their general appearance, as they lie asleep on the 
 fragments of rock which they have been engaged in 
 detaching ; or sit conversing in groups, in low discor- 
 dant tones, with a solemn savageness of aspect ; or 
 engage one with another at the ancient pastime of 
 Mora, at which these men play with a stern concen- 
 trated earnestness of voice and gesture that is pecu- 
 liarly characteristic. Enormous birds of the hawk 
 tribe are constantly seen wheeling round the cliffs over 
 their heads ; and it requires but a small effort on the 
 part of the beholder to bring the natural objects pre- 
 sented to his attention to bear upon the condition of 
 the individuals before him, and thus to associate the 
 whole with the conception of the Prometheus Vinctus ; 
 or with the description by Milton of the fallen beings 
 who sate apart, inquiring of good and evil, and final 
 happiness and misery. But let us not forget that these 
 unhappy beings before us are our fellow-creatures. Let 
 us pass on our way : close our common-place book : 
 and betake us to meditation. 
 
58 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 THE WALK AT NAPLES. 
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL SKETCH. 
 
 A. TTTELL, B , shall we set out on our walk ? 
 
 VV B. With all my heart. 
 
 ( They pass into the street. 
 
 A. How beautiful the sea looks, and how plain we 
 can see the cliffs of Capri — what a noble outline it 
 has ! — But how this gas stinks ! 
 
 B. I agree to all your remarks : but here comes 
 something to regale the olfactories. 
 
 ( They are surrounded by Jive or six flower- 
 girls : after these, three or four ragged hoys 
 come up and ask alms, tumbling head-over- 
 heels. 
 
 A. What a nuisance these creatures are ! 
 
 B. (waving his stick) Va via ! va via ! 
 
 (Boys run off. 
 
 A. Hallo ! where's my pocket-handkerchief ? I 
 know I had it a moment ago. 
 
 B. Ha, ha, ha ! I think I know where it is. That 
 little date-mi-qualche-cosa has got it for certain. I 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 59 
 
 forgot to warn you : I always carry mine here, in my 
 breast pocket. 
 
 A. Pshaw ! I never had my pocket picked in Eng- 
 land in all my life. 
 
 B. O, pickpockets are quite encouraged here. Even 
 the Police would look on calmly if the victim were an 
 Englishman. The plan is different from ours ; but, 
 after all, it teaches us to look sharply after our own 
 roba, without the help of a constable. 
 
 A. Well, so it does, indeed. But what can this 
 muttering fellow, in mustachios and earings, want ? 
 Now he looks very like a pickpocket. 
 
 B. I do not deny his being one: but his is quite 
 another line. He evidently wishes to do us the favour 
 of enlarging the circle of our friends ; but we may 
 perhaps as well not cultivate his acquaintance, nor let 
 him introduce us to any of his. 
 
 A. I understand you. What a noise there is ! I can 
 scarcely hear myself speak. And see ! Here come 
 three cabs and a hack carriage driving straight at us 
 at a full gallop, cracking their whips like mad. 
 
 B. Never mind : walk straight up to them with 
 your stick, and they will be off. 
 
 A. There they go ! now they are attacking that old 
 lady and gentleman opposite, who really look fright- 
 ened. But what is that crowd yonder ? 
 
60 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 B. Some row, certainly. 
 
 A. Let us go and see. It looks like a fight. 
 
 B. It does. But here they never dare fight in ear- 
 nest. 
 
 A. Those fellows with the two trucks have been, 
 running foul of each other. 
 
 B. Yes ; and they are now knocking one another's 
 heads about after their own fashion. 
 
 A. Well may you say after their own fashion. They 
 are at it literally tooth and nail. What a handful of 
 black hair this one has got ; and how the other fel- 
 low's nails have dug into his face ! 
 
 B. There ! down they go, one over the other ; and 
 with them the table of that money-changer. 
 
 A. What a scramble for the grani in the gutter I 
 
 B. Do you see the Englishman over the way, with 
 a broad smile on his face, and tucking up his coat 
 cuffs, as if by instinct ? 
 
 A. I do. Look ! this one's companion has gone 
 back to his truck and is tugging at an iron bar. By 
 his eyes he means mischief ; but he can't get the bar 
 out, luckily. 
 
 B. Perhaps he knew that ; and that's why he went 
 to tug at it, in order to keep out of harm's way with 
 credit. But here comes a man in authority, and a 
 cocked hat, who will put an end to all this. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 61 
 
 A. Will he ? — Why he is positively slapping the 
 fellows' faces with the palm of his hand, with " avete 
 sbagliato, canaglia !" And they — why they are sepa- 
 rating quietly, and are going about their business. 
 Well : that would not disperse a street row in Lon- 
 don ! 
 
 B. No indeed ! 
 
 A. There goes a bold Briton, horse and all, down 
 on the pavement of the Toledo, and half a dozen car- 
 riages over him I No : he is up again, and rides away 
 as if nothing had happened. 
 
 B. You may see plenty such falls here in the 
 course of an hour. But look at that tall showily 
 dressed woman. You cannot mistake her object. 
 
 A. Certainly not. Now she is looking at us. What 
 eyes she has I 
 
 B. Look ; she is going into that church ! but first 
 gives money to all the old women sitting on the steps. 
 
 A. Let us go in too. 
 
 B. Very well. ( They go into the church. 
 A. Look, she is giving alms to the cripple kneeling 
 
 before the rails. And now she kneels herself; and 
 now rises, and passes on to another shrine, and kneels 
 again, crossing herself devoutly. Is there not some- 
 thing very strange, and very wrong, in all this ? 
 
62 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 B. It seems so at first to us ; but I confess that 
 blind devotion — superstition if you will — appears to 
 me not to be without its own peculiar good attending 
 it. The religion of the people here is characterized by 
 devotion ; and I will answer for it that even the little 
 rogue who stole your handkerchief goes to church re- 
 gularly. 
 
 A. And prays to the Madonna to protect him 
 
 against the gendarmes ? 
 
 B. Very likely. The influence of the patron Saint 
 is drawn upon largely, it is true ; but I am inclined to 
 think it is done in the sincerity of firm and affectionate 
 belief. Now the degraded classes in England seldom, 
 if ever, see the inside of a church. I leave it to you to 
 sum up and balance the good and evil on both sides. 
 
 A. I think I could mention some excellent friends 
 of ours whom such notions would frighten : but I 
 never considered the matter in the light in which it 
 appears capable of being put : but perhaps we are not 
 the fittest persons in the world to discuss the subject. 
 Let us get into a carriage and go up to the Museum ; 
 I wish to have another look at the bronzes; particu- 
 larly at the infant Hercules, and the dancing Faun. 
 
 B. And I think you told me you had never seen 
 the head of Psyche ; you have no idea how fine it is. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 63 
 
 Pray let me show it you. It is among the sculpture 
 in the Museum. 
 
 A. I shall be delighted to go with you. Andiamo ! 
 you see I am beginning to talk Italian. 
 
 B. Andiamo ! 
 
 Naples, April, 1844. 
 
64 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 THE CONTRAST, OR THE FOSTER- 
 SISTERS. 
 
 UPON the yellow sands of Naples bay, 
 One morn of delicate Italian spring, 
 I saw two girls of six years old at play, 
 Coursing about in many a frolic ring. 
 In infancy they drained one mother's breast : 
 But sisters they were not, nor were like sisters drest. 
 
 One was of gentle English parents, born 
 
 Beneath the fervent sheen of southern skies ; 
 
 Like the intelligence of earliest morn 
 The azure opened in her laughing eyes. 
 
 Around her neck white coral beads were strung, 
 
 O'er which her tendril curls in light profusion hung. 
 
 The other was a contadina's girl, 
 
 And peaked Ischia was her native isle ; 
 
 In Naples, like an unwrought shell of pearl, 
 Or wild-flower to be set in garden soil, 
 
 Her mother left her ; she had nursed the two ; 
 
 And their companionship none were fain to undo. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 65 
 
 In Ischia not alone do summer heats 
 Shoot downwards with intolerable ire, 
 
 But rocks and stones o'er which the cool wave beats, 
 Are half calcined with subterranean fire : 
 
 And the young Ischiote's every gest and feature 
 
 Shewed her of blood that shared that climate's fiery 
 nature. 
 
 Freedom was in her action and her look ; 
 
 Her wandering hair as jet was dark and bright, 
 And matched her eyes, that when she turned or spoke, 
 
 Brimmed o'er their lids with floods of living light ; 
 Her head was bare ; her robe, in hue carnation, 
 Seemed loose, though held by clasps of gold, in 
 Grecian fashion. 
 
 Methought, in after womanhood the one 
 Would ripen to an almost perfect being, 
 
 Whose placid love in prosperous days would run, 
 Streamlike, with quiet tenderness agreeing ; 
 
 Or, fallen on evil days, that she would prove 
 
 Herself above all wrong : the other, " Love for love," 
 
 Would cry, " or be existence proudly lost !" 
 Would never listen to a sober plea : 
 
66 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 Would never stoop to reckon up the cost 
 
 Incurred by desperate affection ; she 
 Her sailor-boy would follow o'er the brine, 
 Or share the bandit's life on rugged Apennine. 
 
 No more. They were a contrast ; yet they drank 
 
 Together from the universal spring 
 Of natural happiness. O, I could rank 
 
 The harmony and sacred communing 
 Of children with the intercourse of love 
 Angel with Angel holds, singing in realms above I 
 
 Naples, April, 1844. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 67 
 
 THE TEMPLE OF NEPTUNE AT P^STUM. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 IN this, the noblest of these far-famed three, 
 Whose attributes are mystery and grandeur, 
 They, who the veil of ages drew aside, 
 First saw the rents the thunder-stroke had made ; 
 But when it fell they knew not. Haply, 'twas 
 Amidst the dreariness of cloudless skies ; 
 For such things have been : haply, with the blast 
 Of the Sirocco came the thunder-cloud, 
 When universal Nature pants, nor man 
 Nor beast goes forth ; and the horizontal air, 
 Fired like a furnace, undulates at noon 
 Beneath intolerable suns, and shakes 
 These columns in the unstable perspective 
 Of dreamlike mirage ; and the insect power, 
 Whose name is Legion,* rides the air ; with him 
 The mightier fiend, Malaria ; that sheds down 
 Black influence, and sundry kinds of death : 
 
 * The Mosquito. 
 
68 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 Till, sickening with the elements, the heart 
 Of man fails him for fear, and sinks in crime. 
 Or, haply, 'twas the winter, and the sea 
 Grew dark, then whitened o'er beneath the gale, 
 When the bolt fell ; and the low racking cloud 
 Passed sullenly away, and muttering thunder, 
 Held converse with the echos of the hills. 
 
 Naples, April, 1844. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 69 
 
 THE ZIZA OR EMIR'S PALACE. 4 
 
 COME hither, day-dreamer, 
 And wander alone 
 In the courts of the Emir : 
 
 His glory is gone : 
 Midst the silence so fearful 
 
 Of the rich stuccoed hall, 
 The dropping mosaic 
 
 Peels down from the wall ; 
 And you hear the rat gnawing, 
 
 And the bat's tiny cry, 
 Instead of steeds pawing, 
 
 And loud chivalry. 
 
 You may seek the spiced garden, 
 
 But its bowers are no more ; 
 Its girdle is barren 
 
 As the barren sea-shore. 
 You may mount the high terrace, 
 
 But the breezes are laid 
 That erst floated the signal 
 
 Of golden brocade 
 
70 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 Of the dark girl impatient 
 Her true love to greet ; 
 
 Her true love that came not 
 Though his horses were fleet. 
 
 The spider has wrought 
 
 O'er the lattice so fine 
 A dusky gray tissue 
 
 With line upon line : 
 The fresco is mouldered ; 
 
 The shudder of ruin 
 The perishing marbles 
 
 With slime Is bedewing ; 
 And the fountain that tinkled 
 
 To the listening air, 
 Is choking with dust, 
 
 And the green maiden-hair. 
 
 Palermo, April, 1844. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 71 
 
 SEGESTUM. 
 
 IT was an April morning of the South. 
 In the carubba and the cork-tree strove 
 All birds of song ; sweetest the nightingale. 
 The upgathered snake that in the mule-path lay 
 Basking, at our approach unwound itself, 
 And slipped beneath the cactus, then with buds, 
 With bright-eyed buds of yellow, edging round 
 Its tough green leaves ; strange leaves, that from no 
 
 stems, 
 But each from the other grow ; themselves half wood, 
 With prickles armed : the aloe's tardier spring 
 Put forth not yet her lofty thyrse of flowers. 
 So we rode onward in the morning sun : 
 Till on a sudden turn among the hills, 
 Segestum, thy sole relic rose before us, 5 
 On mountain precipices throned : but still 
 The way was long, or long it seemed : for they 
 Who journey in these regions, now lose sight 
 Of that they fain would reach ; now with a glimpse 
 Are comforted ; and wade, and creep, and climb. 
 
 But O, the wildness and the majesty 
 When, the last rugged slope surpassed, you stand 
 Within the Temple ! Wide the pavement spreads, 
 
72 MEMORIALS INT 
 
 And clear of all obstruction. "lis a joy 
 
 Not single, but made up of many joys, 
 
 To pace in meditation to and fro, 
 
 Athwart the parallel bands of sun and shade ; 
 
 And make long vistas with the Doric shafts 
 
 Meeting by turns, and opening, till far heights 
 
 On which the lonely goatherd hangs, gleam through. 
 
 Scarce twenty paces off the hill sinks down 
 
 In an abrupt ravine ; the torrent's roar 
 
 Comes up with a sustained low ruthless sound. 
 
 Formal and dark by contrast, overhead 
 
 The cornice cuts the azure sky, relieved 
 
 Not seldom by the soaring eagle's flight, 
 
 In circles urged, projected on the sky, 
 
 Traced and retraced, how grandly ! — I have talked 
 
 With those who hold this Temple knew no touch 
 
 Of craftsmen's finishing hands ; and urge in proof 
 
 The nodules, short projections, holds of vantage, 
 
 We see left on the stones, by aid of which 
 
 The blocks were from the quarry raised, and slung 
 
 Into their places ; and the grooves that clip 
 
 The columns round ; grooves destined to receive 
 
 The torus and astragalus of bronze, 
 
 Of Grecian workmanship : — I cannot tell 
 
 How these things may have been. The Temple now 
 
 Is Nature's, and hers only. Who shall say 
 
 In what consists completeness? Viewless powers 
 
PttOSE AND VERSE. 73 
 
 Haunt the encincture night and day, and work 
 
 In unison, by mellowness and grace 
 
 Perfecting the maturity of age — 
 
 Sunshine, and rain, and dews, and frosts, and winds ; 
 
 Nay, he is rash who says there cannot be 
 
 Regeneration in the thunder-stroke ; 
 
 Although it dashed yon column from its base ; 
 
 For all things work together for good ends. 
 
 Enough : for now a joyful summons came 
 
 To a repast our trusty muleteer 
 
 Had in the shadow of a column spread. 
 
 Which ended, through the day's concluding hours, 
 
 Requited to the utmost, near the spot 
 
 Careless we lingered, and conversed, and thought 
 
 With hearts untravelled on those far away. 
 
 But now 'twas sunset : and our wary guide 
 
 Urged our departure. Little did he feel 
 
 The glories of the scene : but well he knew 
 
 Romance in certain spots at certain hours 
 
 Will walk with hidden mischief hand in hand. 
 
 So we descended to the rugged vale 
 
 Not slowly, casting yet some looks behind ; 
 
 And for Calatafime shaped our road. 
 
 April, 1844. 
 
74 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 SELINUNTUM. 
 
 /^\ FOR the painter's art to bear away 
 
 ^-^ Piecemeal these wondrous relics ! He can throw 
 
 Credence about the incredible, and take 
 
 The understanding, by the nearest way, 
 
 The eye. How may the pen portray this scene ? 
 
 Vainly you tell me men of pith like ours 
 
 Chiselled these awful masses : I have seen 
 
 The wild goat browse on crags far less : say rather, 
 
 In the beginning when these temples rose, 
 
 Their scale was planned by giant intellects, 
 
 And wrought upon by giants. Wheresoever 
 
 A fragment of a column stands upright, 
 
 This side how bright, on that what depth of shade ! 
 
 It stands a very tower ; and he that climbs, 
 
 Paces it like a warder to and fro ; 
 
 Then in some fluting stands he sentinel ; 
 
 Or in a hollow triglyph lies concealed. 
 
 As mountaineers would scale a precipice, 
 
 Let us explore the savage heap of ruin 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 75 
 
 That occupies the centre. Is it not 
 The arch-mockery of confusion ? Yet we know 
 What choice variety of dainty terms 
 And designations of the builder's art 
 Might be expended on these fearful blocks, 
 That slope edgeways, or lie reversed, or prone, 
 With intertwisted grass, and shrubs, and ferns ; 
 Or perilously poised, as it should seem, 
 Yet hang immoveable, and form black caves 
 Beneath, where with the toad, and breeding snake, 
 Blood-thirsty corsairs have in ambush lain ; 
 And with loud oaths, and brandished scimitars, 
 Surprised the traveller to chains or death. 
 
 The battering engine, or the sulphurous mine, 
 War, such as mortals wage, could ne'er achieve 
 Such havoc. The great globe itself unhinged 
 In pendulous vibration must have reeled, 
 Swung from its inoffensive axle, then 
 Nor sure, nor firmset : and in their despair, 
 They of the city, mighty men of old, 
 Not to the rocks and hills for shelter cried, 
 But to their columns and entablatures, 
 And said — -" Fall on us, hide us from the wrath 
 To come ! " Now not a dewdrop on the corn 
 
76 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 Ripening around, or the wild parsley-weed, 
 In the still morning sunshine stirs : the lark 
 Unseen hangs over all, a downward flood 
 Showering of melody. 
 
 April, 1844. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 77 
 
 SONNET— GIRGENTI. 
 
 " Arduus inde Acragas ostentat maxima longe 6 
 Moenia, magnanimum quondam generator equorum." 
 
 JEn. iii. 703. 
 
 JOURNEY on, and ponder, and admire 
 bonders that come so thick they make defeat 
 Of fancy ; but I touch Girgenti's seat 
 Sublime, and cannot choose but strike the lyre. 
 High midst the fanes which here in ruins lie, 
 Erst dedicate to the Olympian Sire, 
 And the swart Deity who wrought in fire, 
 And Hercules, and Leda's progeny ; 
 Unscathed by time, thy temple, Concord, stands, 
 With the last touch of Grecian artists' hands 
 Yet visible : and this enchanting tone 
 Of living foliage gracing mellow stone, 
 Shows concord here surviving : may her ray 
 Shine through the world at large some blessed day ! 
 
 April, 1844. 
 
78 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 SONNET.— WASHERWOMEN AT THE 
 FOUNTAIN OF ARETHUSA. 
 
 SAY, is this Arethusa ? this the stream 
 To whose soft music Greek and Roman sires 
 Of Poesy attuned their golden lyres ? 
 Whither hath flown the enthusiastic dream ? 
 What nymphs are these that vex the classic rill, 
 Unceasing in their labour, in attire 
 Unfeminine, barelegged, a sordid quire 
 Of old and young, in accent wild and shrill ? 
 If here indeed no amorous Goddess dwells, 
 Fancy shall teem anew, in sheer despite; 
 And with reality in open war, 
 Call these princesses, changed by sorcerer's spells ; 
 As in the homeliest wench La Mancha's knight 
 Saw his Dulcinea, peerless as a star ! 
 
 Syracuse, April, 1844. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 79 
 
 THE THEATRE AT SYRACUSE. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MANUSCRIPT JOURNAL. 
 
 WE visited the remains of the theatre at Sy- 
 racuse on a fine evening, as the sun was 
 getting low over the heights of Hybla. This most in- 
 teresting relic seems not to have been built, but to 
 have been almost entirely hewn out of the side of the 
 hill in the solid rock. The seats are in tolerable pre- 
 servation, and have been so formed as to present a 
 kind of ledge carefully rounded off, sufficiently raised 
 to prevent the feet of any spectator from annoying 
 the one who sate below him. The stairs are still ac- 
 cessible, though much fallen to decay ; the orchestra 
 is partly overgrown with bushes and brambles. The 
 water of the aqueduct from Tyche above, after turning 
 some mills, forms a cascade among the ruins ; and at 
 the mill-tail the wind was carrying the spray hither 
 and thither like dust ; and it was only to be distin- 
 guished from the dust of the mill itself by the rainbow 
 which was formed in it. Here we lingered, with part 
 
80 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 of Acradina, the blue Mediterranean, Ortygia, the 
 great Harbour, and the tract watered by the Anapus, 
 full in our view. The peculiar enchantment of this 
 spot gradually unsettles the belief that it once stood in 
 the heart of a populous and mighty city ; that here 
 resounded the music of the orchestra, and the shouts 
 of a gay or factious audience ; that here prattled gos- 
 sips such as Gorgo and Praxinoe * ; here flashed the 
 expressions of courtly wit ; here was a loose given to 
 ruder jests; here were assignations whispered; here 
 political opinions advanced : for the whole is lying as 
 it were in the lap of Nature ; the silence is unbroken 
 save by the dashing of waters, the song of birds, or 
 the hum of insects; the heron takes wing from the 
 rushes hard by; and the lizard basks undisturbed at 
 our feet. If those things were so, here has been re- 
 generation, not decay ; for the waters of the city aque- 
 ducts have returned to rivulets of the hill ; the very 
 seats have been moulded into gradations which the 
 waterfall covers with its spray ; and the rainbow comes 
 in glorious stillness into the very centre of the thea- 
 tre. But this inscription, this regularly fashioned 
 curve, this and that evidence of human design, are 
 things palpable and unanswerable that force them- 
 selves upon us, which, however, we would not willingly 
 
 * See the 2YPAK0Y2IAI of Theocritus. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 81 
 
 be rid of; for they impart no touch of melancholy 
 now, but rather modify than disturb the illusion, and 
 place the whole before us as less under the influence 
 of a destroying power, than subject to the gentle hand- 
 ling of one which is gradually moulding it into a re- 
 newed condition of existence. 
 
 Again, here might we sit, in a midsummer day 
 dream, and inwardly rebuild and repeople those de- 
 serted regions : call up the shades of Dion, Timoleon, 
 Hiero, Archimedes ; remuster the forces of Nicias or 
 Marcellus, and man or destroy at will invading arma- 
 ments ; or cover the pestiferous regions of the Anapus 
 with the bodies of the besiegers, and shape the gaunt 
 spectre of malaria hovering over her unburied thou- 
 sands, and scourging in fiend-like mercy the proud 
 Himilco home to his native Carthage, there to perish 
 by his own hand ; or summon the intendant Verres 
 before us — Verres, the false, the lascivious, the avari- 
 cious, the cruel, the sacrilegious — summon him and 
 his lewd band of associates, embody and set forth his 
 piles of plate, his gold, his statues, and his purple. 
 But suddenly the air grows eloquent — breathes and 
 burns with the denunciations of intellect and justice 
 fulminated against the evil doer. And see, the tyrant 
 flies I Now no one fears him, no one values his fa- 
 vour, no one ever loved him ! He flies, to hide his 
 
 G 
 
82 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 head in voluntary and miserable exile, there, in an 
 hour of awful retribution, to be stripped and mur- 
 dered by a spoiler* stronger than he. 
 
 But our visions are suddenly dissipated by the shout 
 and song of the muleteer, and the loud ringing of the 
 bells of his mules, as they pace along under the weight 
 of the lettiga through the very corridor of the theatre, 
 now a public way. The sun of Syracuse is indeed set. 
 Let us go. 
 
 Syracuse. April, 1844. 
 * Mark Antony. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 83 
 
 ASCENT OF MOUNT ETNA. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MANUSCRIPT JOURNAL. 
 
 " Where the slumbering earthquake 
 
 Lies pillowed on fire, 
 And the lakes of bitumen 
 
 Rise boilingly higher." manfred. 
 
 AT about four o'clock in the afternoon, (Friday, 
 April 26) mounted on mules and horses, we 
 left Catania for Nicolosi, for the purpose of taking 
 guides from that place for the ascent of Etna. Our 
 
 party at starting consisted of Mr. T , Mr. S — ; — , 
 
 myself, two muleteers, and a boy : we were afterwards 
 
 joined by Mr. K , and his muleteer, also mounted. 
 
 Here Mr. T 's mule made a most vicious attack 
 
 with teeth and heels on the mule of Mr. K ; bites 
 
 and kicks were exchanged unpleasant even to witness ; 
 however, the animals were quieted without accident. 
 In less than three hours we reached Nicolosi, a village 
 said to be more than 2000 feet above Catania, and ten 
 miles distant. 
 
 Here we remained until about half-past eight o'clock ; 
 when we sallied forth to continue our journey up the 
 
84 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 mountain ; our party being augmented in number by 
 two guides, also mounted. We set off in spirits ; for 
 the night was most beautiful : clear, warm, and quite 
 calm, with a fine moon about a week old ; by the light 
 of which we could see the distant summit of the moun- 
 tain quite distinctly, with the smoke issuing from the 
 crater now and then tinged with flame. 
 
 Leaving the Monte Rosso on the left, we proceeded 
 up a tedious road consisting of ashes, scoriae, and 
 rough hard lava; whilst the muleteers occasionally 
 awakened the echoes of the Etnean solitudes with 
 their wild chants. It was not very long before we 
 came to the woody region of the mountain; and at 
 about eleven o'clock we arrived at a hut in the upper 
 part of it, called the Casa del Bosco. By this time 
 we all began to feel the cold of the night very sharply ; 
 and I do not think I shall ever forget the genuine de- 
 light with which we saw a bright fire, which the guides 
 made for us in the centre of the lava-built casa, blazing 
 up to the very roof. Fuel there was here in plenty : 
 the floor, however, was earth ; and the only furni- 
 ture some of the stones of Etna ; stretched on which, 
 after getting thoroughly warm, I had half an hour's 
 sound sleep. The warmth here was of the greatest 
 service to us, and lasted us through the remainder of 
 the night. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 85 
 
 At about midnight we left the Casa del Bosco, still 
 on our mules ; and proceeded upwards and upwards, 
 always by a similar kind of path. Not long after we 
 left the Casa del Bosco, the moon began to fail us ; 
 and we had to pass under a wall or low cliff of lava, 
 the shadow of which kept the path in darkness, whilst 
 the moon shone obliquely in our faces. Just here we 
 came to a part of the road difficult to pass ; and the 
 rider preceding me stopped, and said he could neither 
 see the way nor go on. He, however, soon managed 
 to surmount the obstacle ; which was a steep broken 
 step (as it were) in the lava rock. I then took my 
 turn. My horse, after getting his fore-feet on the 
 impediment, seemed to make no further effort ; but 
 let himself slip backwards on his haunches against the 
 mule behind me, who, in his turn, recoiled against the 
 next, and a serious accident appeared inevitable. I 
 dismounted, and the muleteers came to my assistance, 
 and after some dangerous flounderings and plunges on 
 the sharp lava, my poor steed lay quite still with his hind 
 legs tucked close under him, evidently in the greatest 
 terror. I walked a little further up the ascent ; and 
 they got him up, and brought him to me, and I re- 
 mounted, and we proceeded as before. The road con- 
 tinued more or less beset with similar obstacles ; and the 
 moon soon afterwards went down ; but the night was 
 
86 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 so fine and calm, and the stars so brilliant, that we did 
 very well as to light. However, as we were once more 
 
 stopped by some impediment similar to the last, T 's 
 
 mule again took the opportunity of flying at one of 
 the others, and a regular combat took place between 
 the animals, in the dark, to the imminent peril of the 
 riders. I heard some sound kicks given and received ; 
 
 and saw indistinctly T 's vicious brute twisting 
 
 violently round and round on his hind legs ; close to 
 the edge of a black precipice, which in the obscurity 
 looked bottomless. It was really a frightful sight. 
 But these things occur so suddenly, and are, one way 
 or another, terminated so quickly, that, at the time, 
 you think little or nothing of them. Most happily, 
 no harm ensued, and we all continued our route as 
 before. 
 
 Soon after this, we reached the snow, which lay in 
 wide patches in the hollows of the lava and ashes. 
 We crossed several of these patches without accident ; 
 but on one of them the mule of the foremost of my 
 companions fell, with his leg through the snow ; and 
 my horse slipped down, close to the sharp edge of the 
 lava. I dismounted immediately, and was quite as- 
 tonished to find what a slippery state the snow was in. 
 How the animals managed to walk or stand upon it I 
 know not. Not being aware of this, on alighting, I fell 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 87 
 
 down immediately ; and on attempting to recover my 
 legs, slid rapidly backwards until I was brought up (in 
 nautical phrase) by coming in contact with some one 
 of the party behind. However, we all crossed without 
 injury, and remounted ; and continued our progress 
 upwards. 
 
 At last we came to a place differing little in appear- 
 ance from others that we had passed ; where, however, 
 the guides decided that we must leave the mules and 
 horses. Accordingly we resigned them to the charge 
 of the muleteers, who returned with them to the Casa 
 del Bosco, there to wait for us on our descent. The 
 guides furnished us with sharp pointed sticks ; and we 
 set forwards on foot. Our way lay over an apparently 
 interminable succession of slopes of frozen snow ; rug- 
 ged, and excessively slippery; and I believe we all 
 found them painfully toilsome to ascend. For my own 
 part, I often fell, and slid back several yards, and had 
 all the work to do over again ; so that in a short time 
 I began to feel so much fatigued that I was several 
 times compelled to stop and lie down on the snow: 
 and in this way I proceeded until we reached the Casa 
 Inglese. The Casa Inglese is a small hut, nearly 
 10,000 feet above the sea, erected for the accommoda- 
 tion of persons ascending Etna ; but it was impossible 
 to enter it, as the snow was still as high as the eaves 
 
MEMORIALS IN 
 
 of the building. It is usual in making the ascent later 
 in the year, to ride thus far, which renders the excur- 
 sion much less fatiguing. 
 
 Beyond the Casa Inglese, though the dark mass of 
 the cone lay right before me, and apparently quite 
 near, yet the slopes of snow continued to rise up, one 
 after another as if by magic. Again and again, as we 
 attained for a few minutes the luxury of some rough 
 ashes to walk upon, did I inquire of my guide, whether 
 there was any more snow ? and again and again did he 
 reply, " Si, Signor, c'e un altro poco piu avanti" — until 
 I fairly thought myself and the mountain bewitched. 
 We had now attained an altitude approaching 10,000 
 feet above Catania, and I began to experience the effect 
 of the rarefaction of the air. I felt no distressing 
 symptoms whatever in the chest; but a violent throb- 
 bing in the head came on, yet without pain. As soon 
 as I ceased walking, it became, as it were, distinctly 
 audible, like a loud and regular hammering at ten or 
 twelve yards distance ; but after I had rested a few 
 seconds, it entirely subsided. And in this way I pro- 
 ceeded slowly, until the snow was indeed all past, and 
 the base of the cone, on which snow did not lie, was 
 fairly attained. 
 
 My companions, who had started from the place 
 where we had left our mules, at a pace which I could 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 89 
 
 not keep up with, had by this time left me considerably 
 behind ; but not so far as to prevent the two guides, 
 one of whom remained with me, from calling to one 
 another. My guide was here hailed by the foremost, 
 to say that one of my companions was tired, and had 
 sat down to wait for us to come up with him. How- 
 ever, after waiting a little while, as I afterwards learnt, 
 he went on ; and we did not rejoin him until we reached 
 the summit. 
 
 We now began to ascend the cone by a circuitous 
 route, over hard and very steep volcanic rock covered 
 with loose stones of all sizes. Here I got many falls, 
 and once slid several yards down the side of the moun- 
 tain, but recovered myself without injury. On com- 
 paring notes afterwards, I found that my companions, 
 who were ahead of me, had all had falls about this 
 part of the ascent. The day now began to break ; 
 and, among other remarkable volcanic features, we 
 distinguished, far beneath us, the stream of lava which 
 broke out in the lower part of the mountain, and so 
 nearly overwhelmed the town of Bronte, last Decem- 
 ber. Soon afterwards, at twenty minutes before five 
 o'clock, I found, to my infinite satisfaction, that I had 
 attained the edge of the crater ; along which, but still 
 with a considerable ascent, amidst thick driving sul- 
 phureous vapours, we continued to walk, to the highest 
 
90 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 point of the mountain. Here I rejoined my compa- 
 nions, two of whom, with their guide, were settling 
 themselves to sleep in the warm ashes. I walked on, 
 along a narrow ledge, composed of very frail materials, 
 to the furthest accessible point ; where, before me, I 
 saw the disk of the rising sun, and beneath, Taormina, 
 Messina, with the volcanic islands, and among them, 
 Stromboli, in the distance; together with the whole 
 line of coast, and the expanse of sea : whilst close on 
 my right, enormous volumes of smoke, now illuminated 
 with splendid sun-light effects, and now tinged with the 
 fires of the crater beneath, rolled furiously away to the 
 leeward : whilst on the left I saw another part of the 
 crater irregularly divided into fearful valleys and hol- 
 lows, issuing from which I heard continued explosions 
 as of artillery ; each explosion being succeeded by the 
 harsh clatter of the fragments that had been hurled up- 
 wards, as they fell back upon the rocks. Even when 
 on the spot, it is not an easy matter to obtain a distinct 
 idea of the summit of Etna. The smoke and vapours 
 shut out a great part of the view, and the faculties are 
 bewildered with witnessing violence and confusion not 
 usually connected with the operations of Nature. The 
 real character of the weather was perfectly calm and 
 serene ; but even under the most favourable circum- 
 stances in this region of terror every thing partakes of 
 the character of furnace and storm ; and at this eleva- 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 91 
 
 tion, aided, in all probability, by the operation of the 
 volcano itself, the air drew away pretty strongly from 
 the north, with a piercing effect of cold that was 
 hardly to be resisted. We stood on a frail narrow 
 ledge ; and three several times we felt shocks of 
 earthquake. The prevailing idea upon the summit of 
 Etna is, " Plow dreadful is this place !" 
 
 We soon all reassembled, and got together out of 
 the wind just below the edge of the outer slope of the 
 cone, supporting ourselves by thrusting our heels into 
 the loose ashes, the warmth of which we found inex- 
 pressibly grateful. 
 
 I have already described the sensations I experienced 
 during the ascent. Another of the party suffered 
 greatly with pain in the chest : and another, when on 
 the summit, vomited ; but he would not allow that it 
 was owing to any thing but to the stench of the sul- 
 phureous vapours. 
 
 At Catania, I had protested against making the 
 ascent at night ; but I was outvoted ; and I now think 
 that, on the whole, for local and other reasons, we 
 did right to ascend at night. Besides, we had observed 
 that at about ten in the forenoon, a cloud generally 
 settled for the day on the summit ; making it advisable 
 to reach it very early in the morning. However, the 
 day we fixed upon for our expedition was fine through- 
 out ; but not so the day before, nor the day after. 
 
92 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 As I had anticipated, notwithstanding the fineness 
 of the weather, the sight of the sunrise, like all sun- 
 rises seen from mountain tops, proved a failure. I 
 had heard much of the general magnificence of the 
 spectacle, as well as of the extraordinary effect of the 
 projection of the dark shadow of the cone of the 
 mountain over the face of the country ; but I saw 
 nothing connected with these particulars the least 
 worthy of remark. During the ascent, however, in 
 the night, the circumstances attending the view of the 
 sidereal heavens far exceeded my expectations. The 
 splendour of the constellations outshone any thing of 
 the kind I had ever before witnessed, or even imagined. 
 The Milky Way lost its uncertain nebulous character, 
 and put on the appearance of luminous, well-defined 
 cloud; and I do not assert it as a fact, but I verily 
 believe that by its light, and the general light of the 
 stars, I saw my own shadow on the snow. It was in- 
 deed a glorious spectacle I As Etna has no lofty 
 mountains near it, the stellar horizon had the appear- 
 ance of being far below us : we had in fact more than 
 an entire hemisphere to gaze upon : and I saw some 
 fine stars rise from, and others set within, the black 
 abyss beneath us. The rising of the planet Jupiter 
 early in the morning, was in this respect a very 
 beautiful phenomenon. I saw also in the course of 
 the night two faint flashes of lightning in the cloud- 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 93 
 
 less darkness beneath us ; and, in the sky above, two, 
 and only two, excessively faint meteors. The morning 
 twilight appeared of very brief duration. 
 
 On the summit we found the sulphureous vapours 
 very overpowering ; and after remaining there about 
 an hour, we began the descent of the mountain, not 
 the way by which we had ascended, but directly down 
 the sheer declivity which lay beneath our feet, where 
 we had all been reposing. From its extreme steepness 
 it at first appeared impracticable ; but one of the 
 guides led the way quickly and decidedly ; and we soon 
 found it afforded a very rapid and comparatively easy 
 path ; for it consisted for the most part of fine ashes, 
 into which we sank more than ankle deep at every 
 step, without the possibility of slipping : but now and 
 then the ashes ended abruptly, giving place to a steep 
 face of hard sulphureous rock, covered with loose 
 stones ; and wherever this occurred, you were pretty 
 sure, without care, to get a smart fall. This path soon 
 brought us to the slopes of frozen snow, which, in the 
 ascent, I had found so formidable ; and to my great 
 surprise, I descended them without difficulty, and kept 
 well up with my companions. 
 
 We now diverged to the left in order to obtain a 
 view of the famous Val del Bove ; an enormous deso- 
 late valley or ravine, high up in the mountain, pre- 
 senting every variety of the most awful volcanic 
 
MEMORIALS IN 
 
 scenery. It is much the finest thing in the whole 
 
 region of Etna. Although no colouring could have 
 
 been anticipated in such a scene, yet the varieties of 
 
 black were quite astonishing. Effects too of light and 
 
 shade abounded; and the transparent air, and the 
 
 bright morning sun, cast a velvet-like softness of tint 
 
 over the lava streams, with now and then a tinge of 
 
 the most delicate purple imaginable, 
 
 " - - - Smoothing the raven down 
 Of darkness till it smiled. ..." 
 
 We were in truth most fortunate in obtaining so 
 perfect and enjoyable a view of this tremendous valley; 
 often for months together the abode of aerial clouds 
 and tempests, even when unvexed by volcanic storm. 
 
 We continued our route down the patches of snow, 
 until we once more entered upon the woody region ; 
 and at about nine o'clock, regained the Casa del Bosco, 
 where we found our muleteers fast asleep in the sun. 
 After a short delay, we remounted, and as we had had 
 a fatiguing walk of about eight hours, we were not 
 sorry to ride down the remainder of the mountain. 
 Here I was much pleased at hearing the cuckoo: it 
 was the first I had heard this year ; and the first I 
 recollect to have ever heard out of England. 
 
 We had now a better opportunity of observing the 
 woody region than when we passed it in the night. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 95 
 
 I confess I was disappointed in the beauty of it ; at 
 least, of that part of it which we crossed. There 
 were some terrific cascades of lava that had desolated 
 many localities of the region, within sight. From hence 
 we enjoyed an excellent view of the very numerous 
 minor volcanos that have at various times broken out 
 in the lower regions of the mountain. They are all 
 now extinct, but they have generally proved very de- 
 structive. Some of them, the Monte Rosso, for in- 
 stance, are hills of considerable elevation. We also 
 saw the celebrated Grotto del Capre, which we had 
 passed in the night. It is an insignificant cave near 
 the Casa del Bosco, and was once the only refuge for 
 travellers ascending the mountain. Many names of 
 travellers are carved on the trees which surround it. 
 I was disappointed to find that the chestnut tree called 
 from its great size " de' cento cavalli," did not lie in 
 this part of Etna. It must be visited in a distinct 
 excursion from Nicolosi. 
 
 Passing from the woody region through the desola- 
 tion of lavas of various dates, and over a long tract of 
 the black pulverized ashes of the Monte Rosso, we at 
 length reached Nicolosi. Here we dismissed our 
 guides, and obtained some refreshment, and remained 
 about two hours, and then remounted in order to ride 
 quietly back to Catania. But our scrambles were not 
 
90 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 yet over. Just as we were leaving the place, the 
 vicious mule managed once more to fly like a tiger at 
 one of the others ; a fresh kicking and plunging en- 
 sued, which broke T 's girths, and he fell on his 
 
 back on the sharp stones of the steep paved village 
 street which we were descending. Most fortunately 
 he was not hurt. He remounted, and we continued 
 our ride to Catania, where we arrived between three 
 and four o'clock, having been absent about twenty- 
 three hours ; and, considering the season of the year, 
 we could not but be satisfied with the success of our 
 ascent of Mount Etna. 
 
 In the evening we had the honour of a visit from 
 Professor Forbes, of Edinburgh. He had just arrived 
 at Catania, and wished to make some enquiries of us 
 concerning our expedition. In the course of conver- 
 sation, I mentioned to him the symptoms which I had 
 experienced when near the summit of the mountain ; 
 and he told me that he had often ascended to great 
 heights, and that he had occasionally, but not in- 
 variably, felt similar symptoms.* 
 
 The next morning I perceived that a steel key which 
 I wore at my watch chain, and the steel pipe of my 
 watch key, had become corroded, and turned nearly 
 
 * See Ascent of the Col du G6ant, in this volume. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 97 
 
 black. This was evidently owing to my having re- 
 clined upon, and having thus brought them into con- 
 tact with, the sulphureous ashes on the summit. 
 
 In the Cabinet Encyclopaedia, in the volume on 
 Astronomy, by Sir John Herschel, is the following 
 note. 
 
 " The height of Etna above the Mediterranean (as 
 it results from a barometrical measurement of my own 
 made in July, 1824, under very favourable circum- 
 stances) is 10872 English feet." 
 
 The distance from Catania to the summit of Etna 
 is called thirty-six miles. This must surely be an 
 exaggeration. Agreeably to this reckoning, we should 
 have performed, in going and returning, twice thirty- 
 six, or seventy-two miles, in about twenty hours : 
 making our average progress, whilst actually on our 
 road, something greater than three miles and a half 
 an hour ; which, although we descended rapidly, is too 
 much. The fact is, guides are in the habit of calling 
 an hour spent on a mountain excursion, a league ; 
 which exactly accounts for the estimated distance. 
 
 Catania, April, 1844. 
 
98 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 SONNET.— THE CUCKOO ON ETNA. 
 
 UPWARDS o'er frozen and o'er fiery slopes 
 Struggling, to Etna's burning peak we passed 
 By night ; and for requital of the hopes 
 That waited on the adventure, stood, aghast, 
 Upon the crater's unsubstantial ridge, 
 Over a quaking gulf, that path or bridge 
 Tamely endures not. Yet, as from that cone 
 Pernicious we descended, fragrance born 
 Of sunshine, and the jocund April morn, 
 For sulphurous exhalations did atone : 
 And, chief of all, I hailed the gladness thrown 
 By the first cuckoo of the budding year 
 I ever chanced in foreign climes to hear, 
 Dread Mongibello,* o'er thy woodland zone. 
 
 * The local name of Etna. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 99 
 
 ROUGHING IT. 
 
 GOOD Sir ! pray bid them take away your 
 wretched stuff called tea ; 
 I'll treat you to a cup of mine — they can't impose on me : 
 You never catch me at a loss, for still, where'er I go, 
 I make a rule of roughing it as travellers should do. 
 
 Sir ! self -protection is a law that governs all mankind ; 
 
 'Tis in these little things you see the gentleman re- 
 fined. 
 
 'Tis by their nice resources you may tell the chosen 
 few 
 
 Who make a point of roughing it as wise men always do. 
 
 I've got the new preventative to take mid'st heaving 
 
 surges ; 
 Perfumes, and sweetmeats, spice, liqueurs, and sauces 
 
 sold by Burgess ; 
 The recipes of Madame Starke, and blue pills one or 
 
 two ; 
 For I make a point of roughing it as travellers should do. 
 
100 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 These things go in a nutshell, Sir ! id est, my own 
 
 voiture ; 
 The poet says, a nutshell 'twas Queen Mab rode in of 
 
 yore. 
 Aha ! you take the joke I see ; the thought is quaint 
 
 and new ; 
 And proves that I love roughing it as travellers ought 
 
 to do. 
 
 And then I've got a patent steam machine to boil 
 
 potatoes, 
 That neatly packs within a new flea-catching apparatus ; 
 And best of all I've got — but are you going, Sir ?- — 
 
 Adieu ! 
 {Piano) To-morrow I shall have these rooms now 
 
 occupied by you — 
 {Forte) O, I make a point of roughing it as travellers 
 
 ought to do. 
 
 Catania, May, 1844. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 101 
 
 SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MANUSCRIPT JOURNAL. 
 
 THE day after leaving Catania we spent a delight- 
 ful morning in the contemplation of the antiqui- 
 ties and wonderful scenery of Taormina, and thence 
 came on to Messina. I do not like to quit Sicily with- 
 out a word respecting Scylla and Charybdis. I have 
 been twice at Messina, which is in their immediate 
 neighbourhood, but on neither occasion have I been 
 able to explore them carefully, though I have been 
 on sailing excursions about the strait in a small boat, 
 and have twice passed through it in a steam vessel. 
 Scylla is a castle-crowned rock, and of course, per- 
 fectly well identified. The whole locality is extremely 
 picturesque. Respecting Charybdis some uncertainty 
 exists. Some say it is the eddy called the Garofalo off 
 Messina lighthouse ; others, that it is the strong eddy 
 off the Faro of Messina, nearly opposite Scylla, ten 
 miles off. But the entire strait is full of eddies, and 
 this makes its navigation at all times somewhat preca- 
 rious. During our stay at Messina my companions 
 
102 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 sailed over to Scylla, but it blew so hard that they 
 could not attempt to land. One of them told me on 
 his return that he had heard the breakers make an 
 unusually loud noise against the rocks. He therefore, 
 as well as Ulysses, must be admitted to have heard 
 the barking of Scylla's enchanted dogs. But similar 
 sounds are to be heard on every bold coast in bad 
 weather. It is most likely that the terrors of Scylla 
 and Charybdis are as great now as ever they were ; 
 nor do the fabulous exaggerations of Homer and Vir- 
 gil show any thing to the contrary. Owing probably 
 to the pious awe with which their religious feelings in- 
 vested every natural object, the ancient poets differ in 
 this from the moderns, that they have left us scarcely 
 any descriptions of natural scenery, divested of fable, 
 and treated subjectively, in the spirit of modern idyls, 
 in which the supposition is, that the poet is on the spot, 
 and speaking in his own person. But the ancients are 
 rich in epic and dramatic narration, put into the mouth 
 of persons supposed to be at a distance from the place 
 of which they are speaking; and in such narrations, 
 descriptions may be introduced so as to be unexcep- 
 tionable, although they may not convey correct ideas 
 of the localities to which they refer. In our own lan- 
 guage we have a strong instance of this. Shakspeare's 
 well-known description of Dover cliff neither conveys 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 103 
 
 an accurate notion of that cliff in particular, nor, as 
 indeed Johnson's note on the passage points out, of 
 the impressions naturally made on the mind of a per- 
 son standing on the brink of a terrific height. But it 
 is further to be observed, that the passage is not put 
 into the mouth of a person on the spot, but of one who 
 is essaying to make another, who is blind, believe that 
 they are standing together on the summit of the cliff, 
 when in reality they are at a distance from it. The 
 description has therefore a dramatic propriety and a 
 naturalness of its own, the sustaining of which, in its 
 place in the drama, is of far more importance than the 
 dressing it up as a recognisable picture of a given 
 locality. Dover cliff, it must be confessed, has little 
 enough to do with Scylla and Charybdis ; but it would 
 be as unreasonable to argue from Shakspeare that 
 Dover cliff has altered, as to argue from Homer that 
 Scylla and Charybdis have altered. Before we criti- 
 cise a description, we ought to understand what the 
 writer wished to delineate. A scene truthfully por- 
 trayed, in prose or in metre, has its merits ; but the 
 interests of a higher order of truth are consulted, when 
 the features of the external world are made subservi- 
 ent to delineation of character. 
 
 April, 1844. 
 
104 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 IN THE STEAM-BOAT OFF THE COAST 
 OF CALABRIA. 
 
 THANKS for a night of calm upon the sea ! — 
 Is yon a planet sinking in the west ? 
 No ! 'tis the sleepless fire of Stromboli 
 Beaconing far off. And we might say, dear friend, 
 Our vessel hangs in a crystalline sphere ; 
 For the same heavens that glitter overhead 
 Are mirrored far beneath ; star echoes star. 
 And at our bows, and look ! on either hand, 7 
 Starboard and larboard, how the waters gleam 
 With something more than reflex, something more 
 Than surface light, upcreaming from the deep, 
 In apparitions delicate and rare ; 
 Refulgent globes, and sheets of watery flame 
 Distinct with sparks, now quenched, now re-illumed, 
 By fits, as throb the pulses of the sea 
 To measured cadences we cannot bear. 
 For, such the animation of the deep, 
 Methinks the sea-nymphs with immortal shells 
 In grots of pearl make melodies to-night, 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 105 
 
 That from the sea-halls vibrate through the waves, 
 That cannot choose but make response in light. 
 Two ways the sea is starry, and our wake, 
 Dividing the gross darkness far astern, 
 Rivals the Milky Way ! Hold now my arm ; 
 Under the millrace of the paddle-wheels 
 The foam is — constellated ? No — 'tis light 
 Immaculate, yet shaftless : light unwrought 
 To brilliancy ; like that the optic tube 
 Discloses, far in space, in shapeless clouds ; 
 Materials haply to create more worlds. 
 But with the glory of the spectacle, 
 Its excellence and beauty undefined, 
 Rest we contented. Will you to your berth ? 
 Then lend me the capote you brought from Venice : 
 To-night on deck I will outwatch the Bear, 
 That fears to dip his outline in the main. 
 
 April, 1844. 
 
106 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 PISA REVISITED. 
 
 PISA, the storm-blasts of the Apennine 
 Had half congealed the Arno when I last 
 Beheld thee : now the genial airs of spring 
 Come from the vineyards and the olive groves, 
 And fan thy ancient battlements, and pass 
 "Within, bringing perfume, and sound of bees, 
 Into thy quiet precincts. Once again 
 I tread the Campo Santo's hallowed ground, 8 
 Waking the echoes of its gothic cloister, 
 And dwell upon the frescos on its walls, 
 A Bible history speaking to all eyes, 9 
 With awe and love : again I contemplate 
 The leaning Tower — the Duomo — Baptistery ; 
 And on the grassy plot without I sit 
 To watch the progress of the bands of shade 
 Cast from their rows of open pillar-work, 
 Whose nice recesses, as the Sun moves on, 
 He searches through and through ; from morn till eve 
 Ripening the very stone to hues of gold ; 
 Then in unmitigated pomp goes down, 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 107 
 
 And on the rich cathedral gates of bronze 
 Leaves his last splendours lingering. 
 
 Yes ! thou hast beauty, grandeur, truth ; and they 
 Are attributes akin to good supreme ; 
 And therefore shall this spectacle survive, 
 These thy four marvels, in harmonious group, 
 Upon the tablets of my brain, fair Pisa, 
 Pre-eminent among the memories 
 Of Italy. I now revisit thee 
 With joy unfeigned ; nor will I, when we part, 
 Bid thee farewell for ever. 
 
 Pisa, May, 1844. 
 
108 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 SONNET— ON THE PAINTINGS OF 
 WALLIS. 10 
 
 WALLIS I that hast with keen poetic eye 
 Looked through the very soul of visible things ; 
 And turned the loftiest imaginings 
 To pencilled shapes, with hues that cannot die ; 
 Thou of all Nature lover, friend, ally, 
 Hast long conversed with southern skies, and hills, 
 Forests, and floods ; there heard the voice that thrills 
 Throughout creation everlastingly. 
 Thee, therefore, cradled in the lap of Art, 
 The cataract — the eagle of the rock — 
 Earth in the pomp of heaven at sunset dressed — 
 Fruits, foliage, of the gardens of the blest — 
 Italian splendours, blind not ; but unlock 
 The vast resources of thy British heart. 
 
 Florence, May, 1844. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 109 
 
 A SKETCH AT VALLOMBROSA. 
 
 " TN Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades 
 -*- High over-arched embower" — in oak and chest- 
 nut glades, 
 Beneath the very trees by Milton seen 
 In autumn,* now spring-clad in freshest green ; 
 Three lovely boys it was our chance to see 
 Leaping the voiceful water-brooks in glee ; 
 With golden flowering broom entwined around 
 Their heads ; with merriment they came of pleasant 
 
 sound ; 
 And to fill up the summer's vocal cheer, 
 The nightingale sang loud and long, and cuckoo 
 
 shouted clear. 
 But straight the boys left off their boisterous play, 
 When they came bounding on the mountain way ; 
 For there, within a chapel, small and rude, 
 With words beneath of sacred import, stood 
 An image of the Virgin and the Child ; 
 Dear emblems of protection in the wild ; 
 
 * In the year 1638 ; 206 years ago. 
 
110 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 Each doffed his garland, each before the shrine 
 Knelt down, and kissed the sculptured forms divine ; 
 And rising, each his brow crossed with the sacred sign. 
 
 One moment more, with shout and gambol new, 
 Down the steep mountain path the truant comrades 
 
 flew; 
 And though their passing reverence was brief, 
 Their worship such as we must view with grief, 
 Yet they are blest, nursed in devout belief : 
 For it is written, by the will of heaven, 
 High charge to intermediate powers is given ; 
 Nor dare we say amidst these water-floods 
 Sky-born, these solemn rocks, and caves, and glorious 
 
 woods, 
 No guardian spirits dwell, no angels hover, 
 Suppliants like these from injury to cover. 
 
 June, 1844. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. Ill 
 
 THE SACRO EREMO, OR CITY OF 
 HERMITS. 
 
 THE UPPER CONVENT OF CAMALDOLI. 
 
 TO the recesses of the Apennine 
 We climbed, above Camaldoli, and found 
 The Hermits' City in deep mountain woods 
 Of pines and chestnuts ; whence, by gray ravines, 
 The cloud-engendered waterfalls descend, 
 Whose glorious destination is to feed 
 The Arno and the Tiber. We were met 
 By a good Benedictine at the gate, 
 Who signified a welcome, spoke it not ; 
 For these converse with heavenly things alone. 
 To many a shrine he led us, many a cell, 
 For centuries by Saint and Anchorite used ; 
 And bowed his head, and knelt in prayer, before 
 Carved images of wondrous sanctity ; 
 Whilst solemn intermittent undertones 
 Dropped from his lips, like waters in a cave. 
 
112 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 Mortification weans these men from earth : 
 
 Their food herbs and rock-water ; iron their couch 
 
 Morning, and noon, and night, year after year, 
 
 They dedicate their lives to prayer and praise. 
 
 Oft when the whirl-blast eddies round and round 
 
 The precipices hung with shuddering pines ; 
 
 Oft beneath skies distinct with frosty stars, 
 
 When the ice-brooks are voiceless, and the woods 
 
 Bow down beneath the snow-drifts, deadening all 
 
 The echoes, when the very convent bell 
 
 Is dumb with snow, forth come the punctual quire, 
 
 Gliding at midnight, an unearthly train, 
 
 To call on God with services and hymns. 
 
 Let us forbear to search too curiously 
 
 If all be done in genuine purity 
 
 And lowliness of heart. A cell's repose 
 
 Ensures not a soul's peace. 'Tis very meet 
 
 At times to reckon with ourselves, in league 
 
 With solitary thoughts ; but wakeful fiends 
 
 Might fabricate a deadly snare for these 
 
 Out of their penances and solitude. 
 
 Too self-sufficient, and too much alone, 
 
 Is to go mad ! — But hold, intruding thoughts : 
 
 Whither your thread may lead we will not follow. 
 
 Rather by meditation let us dwell 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 113 
 
 Upon " the gentle shock of mild surprise 
 
 That carried far into our hearts" thy words 
 
 Scarce audible, and soul-subduing look, 
 
 Meek Hermit, and that air of sanctity 
 
 Which filled those precincts ; for they savoured not 
 
 Of this world, and they melted us to tears. 
 
 Florence, June, 1844. 
 
114 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 LA VERNA. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MANUSCRIPT JOURNAL. 
 
 WE left Camaldoli at a little after eight in the 
 morning, and after an hour's steep descent, 
 arrived at a small village called Partina. We soon 
 commenced a long ascent, after surmounting which we 
 arrived at La Verna, in something less than five hours 
 from Camaldoli. La Verna is, in fact, a Hospice, on 
 the summit of a pass leading from Bibiena, Chitignano, 
 and Pieve San Stefano, directly over the Apennines. On 
 the side of the mountain we found the heat of the sun 
 very great ; but on arriving at the Convent, we were 
 shown into a room with massive walls, quite shaded 
 from the sun, so that it felt very chilly, and we ac- 
 cepted with delight the offer of a fire, which we soon 
 saw blazing up the capacious chimney. We could 
 scarcely have anticipated enjoying a fire-side in the 
 middle of the day on the 7th of June, in Italy. Imme- 
 diately on our arrival we were visited by the Superior, 
 who, amongst other topics which he introduced, ques- 
 tioned us about the Queen, Sir Robert Peel, O'Con- 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. IjU 
 
 nell, the Thames Tunnel, and Dr. Pusey. Of O'Con- 
 nell he said — " E un uomo di ferro !" After some 
 refreshment, we walked out, and met in the corridor 
 a country lad who had been severely bitten in the leg 
 by an adder, and had come to the Convent for relief. 
 The good brother in the spezeria who acted as leech, 
 examined the wound, but appeared sorely puzzled, and 
 inquired of us if we were " medici ?" We then visited 
 the various shrines and spots of peculiar sanctity in 
 the immediate neighbourhood of the Convent. One 
 of the brethren, and two of the country people, accom- 
 panied us. At every altar they knelt in prayer ; and 
 in the cave in which Saint Francis, the founder of the 
 Convent, had made his bed — a dark cave now dripping 
 audibly with water — the silence was broken only by 
 their subdued voices, and the sound of the dropping. 
 In the various chapels, and in the church of the Con- 
 vent are some very magnificent specimens in terra- 
 cotta by Luca della Robbia ; finer than any to be seen 
 in Florence. The position of La Verna is very com- 
 manding, giving it somewhat the appearance of a for- 
 tress or strong-hold. Its wood scenery is beautifully 
 diversified with rock, affording the grandest landscape 
 studies both in outline and colour ; and all about the 
 Convent you catch most picturesque figures of the 
 monks, or of the country-people, in attitudes of ado- 
 
116 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 ration before the various shrines and altars. We 
 heard the cuckoo and the nightingale all day long ; 
 and the wild broom covered the face of the country 
 for miles with its golden blossoms. Our dinner was 
 very good ; with fish from Ravenna, on the Adriatic. 
 We afterwards received another visit from the Supe- 
 rior, accompanied by an aged brother, and whilst they 
 were sitting in conversation with us, the Convent bell 
 sounded the Ave Maria, when the good Franciscans 
 rose — we following their example — and all stood with 
 our faces turned one way in silent meditation for two 
 or three minutes ; after which we reseated ourselves at 
 the fire, and continued our discourse. On retiring to 
 rest we found the accommodations inferior to those of 
 Camaldoli, but far better than report had led us to ex- 
 pect. At one o'clock in the morning we heard the 
 sound of a strange kind of drum echoing through the 
 corridors to awaken the brethren to early matins. We 
 rose in good time, and left La Verna at six in the 
 morning, and went to Bibiena, where our carriage met 
 us ; and at a little after six in the evening, we reached 
 Florence. 
 
 June, 1844. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 117 
 
 FIRE-FLIES. 
 
 COME forth ! The summer insect now recalls 
 The intoxicating blaze of festivals, 
 And surnamed of the element of fire, 
 Shines at the lover's hour on wings of young desire : 
 Nor singly shines : here, by Valdarno's farms, * 
 He and his kindred flit in countless swarms. 
 Not as in English lanes and hedgerows damp 
 Glimmers at eve the glow-worm's hermit lamp ; 
 But I have read in tales of faery-land 
 Of golden apparitions, band on band 
 Of Elves that dance to their own light, and these 
 Are of them. Look! the corn-fields, vine-bowers, trees, 
 Are constellated ; and the darkling earth 
 Mimics the heavens. Can this be insects' mirth ? 
 And look again ! Their sparks beneath the bushes 
 Mantle by fits in intermittent gushes, 
 Like planets when they set, or play of maiden's blushes. 
 Yes ! 'tis a giddy and tumultuous light, 
 Glittering in very mockery and despite 
 
 * The Cascine of Florence. 
 
118 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 Of sleep and quiet dews. And hark ! the bird of night 
 Chimes in, and strives with these in blest endeavour ; 
 For nought can music from refulgence sever ; 
 Ordained in earth and heaven companions ever. 
 How glorious such existence, magic flies ! 
 Ye live and move in light, and light is paradise. 
 
 Florence, June, 1844. 
 
TROSE AND VERSE. 119 
 
 A THOUGHT AT VENICE. 
 
 WHEN Venice, save in name, shall be no more, 
 And the lagoon shall o'er her marbles flow, 
 If to her former place from the low shore 
 
 Some English Bard in pilgrim's weeds shall row ; 
 
 Before his mental eye, as in a glass, 
 Long files of Doges wedded to the sea, 
 
 Or pomp of tournaments, or will there pass 
 The virgin Brides, afloat with minstrelsy? 
 
 Rather for him will hover o'er the deep 
 Her scenery of Palace, Bridge, and Tower, 
 
 Peopled with forms in tragic robes that sweep ; 
 Jaffier — the Jew — the Merchant — and the Moor. 
 
 Venice, July, 1844. 
 
120 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 SONNET.— AT VENICE. 
 
 AT Venice hourly by the marble quays 
 The steam-ship thrusts aside the gondolas : 
 At Venice the long railway duct divides 
 (Unnatural isthmus) the laguna's tides : 
 Well may romantic youths and maidens craze ! 
 The world reels onwards. He that thinks and feels 
 Stands not to be cast down beneath the wheels 
 Of change. So fares the man who stands at gaze. 
 And with the graces flown of ancient days, 
 We would believe an epoch is begun 
 For coming triumphs, to be ranked among 
 The loftiest themes that swell the poet's song, 
 By revolutions bringing round a sun 
 To melt away all intellectual haze. 
 
 Venice, July, 1844. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 121 
 
 MILAN CATHEDRAL. 
 
 HE cannot choose but sing, 
 This consecrated floor who treads, 
 " The King of Glory shall come in : 
 
 Ye Gates, lift up your heads ! " 
 The soul expands, and sends the eye 
 Unawed to scan, around, on high, 
 This Fane, than whose no pillars give 
 A nobler range of perspective. 
 So in majestic order sweep 
 
 Unnumbered files of loftiest stems 
 Sublimed with leafy diadems 
 In Indian forests deep : 
 And, as the sunset shoots through forest glades, 
 
 Celestial groups, in many a burning row, 
 Chequering the gloom religious that pervades 
 The combinations of this saintly show, 
 From the painted glass descend, 
 In rich variety to blend 
 Their hues with tones the breathing organ flings 
 About the whole, in sound's harmonious colourings. 
 
122 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 And now the winding marble stair 
 
 High as the Temple's outward roof 
 Hath led me : 'tis no spot where fear 
 
 Stands from the brink aloof. 
 Here seeming trellised gardens, here 
 Fruits, flowers, and foliage, hang in air ; 
 And pendent terraced walks are made, 
 Diversified with light and shade ; 
 And traceries with patience wrought, 
 All of the carver's teeming brain, 
 In marble without streak or stain, 
 From Alpine quarries brought. 
 And art exulting in her power and riches, 
 
 Adds solemn forms, read of in scripture stories, 
 Kneeling or standing in their shadowy niches ; 
 And, chief of all, among these sculptured glories, 
 Saints, angels, human and divine, 
 Consummating this vast design, 
 On snow-white pinnacles rise high and higher, 
 To where, in gold, the Virgin tops the far-seen spire ! 
 
 Beneath, the guardianed city lies : 
 
 Beyond, with vine-grown plains between, 
 
 The Alps, uniting earth and skies, 
 In horizontal sheen 
 
 Glassing the purity of heaven, 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 123 
 
 Rear crests on crests, like waves storm-driven ; 
 An ocean stream of silver curled 
 Around the aegis of the world ! 
 And O, methinks, on peaks so bright 
 (But that this dull encumbered eye 
 Such visitings may not descry) 
 Angels must oft alight, 
 Then back to bliss, crowning in winged trains 
 
 Points where nor pulse hath beat, nor foot hath trod, 
 Completing link by link, the golden chains 
 
 In which this earth hangs from the throne of God. 
 And thus by sincere thoughts of love 
 They first suggest, and next improve, 
 This Temple's marvels draw both young and old 
 To ponder loftiest things by steps refined and bold. 
 
 Milan, July, 1844. 
 
124 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 THE PAINTING OF THE LAST SUPPER 
 AT MILAN. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MANUSCRIPT JOURNAL. 
 
 I CANNOT leave Milan without a word on the cele- 
 brated painting of the Cenacolo by Leonardo da 
 Vinci, in the refectory of the deserted convent of Santa 
 Maria delle Grazie. Prepared as I was to see it in 
 bad condition, it was in a worse state than I had anti- 
 cipated. I did not find, as I have found it to be the 
 case with others in ruins, that this painting came out 
 better after the eye had been accustomed to its ap- 
 pearance for a few minutes. It is not faint, but it is 
 indistinct. You do not see too little, but too much. 
 There is colour enough about it, but it is not the ori- 
 ginal colour. I had looked for an impressive sight, to 
 wit, the ghost — the shade of a great work ; but was 
 put off with a pretended resuscitation. The whole too 
 is miserably mildewed, and is, in fact, scarcely worth 
 going to see ; yet I made a point of devoting two 
 mornings to it. 
 
 O that Leonardo had in this divine work employed 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 125 
 
 fresco, and not oils ! On the opposite wall is a fine 
 fresco by Montorfano of the Crucifixion, dated 1495, 
 at the present time in a very good state. The date of 
 the Cenacolo is 1500. Wordsworth has a sonnet upon 
 it, to which we turned with pleasure. He has therein 
 spoken of it as he felt; but assuredly this once grandest 
 of works has been degraded to an ignoble relic. 
 
 Milan, July, 1844. 
 
126 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 NIGHT, IN THE VALLEY OF CHAMONIX, 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 PINE-FORESTS, torrent beds, loose rocks, firm 
 crags — 
 Steps in the scale by which the untutored sight 
 Is schooled to height and distance — where are ye? 
 All melted into darkness. Yet, from peaks 
 Whose dreamy outlines mingle with the stars, 
 The glaciers stream into the vale below 
 With dubious light, beheld like comets, such 
 As have been seen with mystic train to sweep 
 From zenith to horizon. In night-frost 
 The avalanche lies chained ; and all is hushed ; 
 Save where the Arveiron, ceaselessly renewed 
 From his well-head of ice, raves with a voice 
 So uniform, it soothes like silence ; nay, 
 Grows almost musical. 
 
 Chamonix, August, 1844. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 127 
 
 PASSAGE OF THE COL DU GEANT. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MANUSCRIPT JOURNAL. 
 
 "The ice was here, the ice was there, 
 
 The ice was all around : 
 It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, 
 
 Like noises in a swound." 
 
 ANCIEKT MARINER. 
 
 HAVING, whilst at Chamonix, made successful 
 excursions, favoured by the finest weather, to 
 the summit of the Breven, to the Jardin, and to the 
 summit of the Buet, I resolved not to quit the neigh- 
 bourhood of Mont Blanc without attempting the pas- 
 sage from Chamonix to Courmayeur by the Col du 
 Geant. Accordingly, on the 30th of July I signified 
 my wishes to the Chef des guides at Chamonix, who 
 readily appointed three guides to accompany me, and 
 we had hopes of being able to start that same afternoon. 
 But the weather in a few hours changed for the worse ; 
 and continued very unfavourable, with snow, rain, and 
 frequent thunder, for some days. Without inserting 
 in this place a meteorological journal for the period of 
 
128 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 ray detention at Chamonix, it will be sufficient to state 
 that on Monday August 5th, the weather towards the 
 middle of the day improved so much that I decided 
 upon starting at two o'clock, with my guides, for the 
 Montanvert, with the intention of passing the night 
 there, and of proceeding the next morning for the Col 
 du Geant, should the weather continue fine. My 
 guides, and their qualifications, were as follows : 
 
 Alexandre Devouassoud (twice up Mont Blanc, five 
 times to the Col du Geant.) 
 
 Michel Coutet (never up Mont Blanc, twice to the 
 Col du Geant.) 
 
 David Simon (three times up Mont Blanc, never 
 to the Col du Geant.) 
 
 Jean Edward Devouassoud (once up Mont Blanc, 
 never to the Col du Geant.) 
 
 This latter came as an aspirant, not being engaged 
 on the same terms as the other three. 
 
 We arrived early in the afternoon at the Montan- 
 vert, after a very hot walk. Weather steadily improv- 
 ing. We supped, and retired to rest betimes. 
 
 Before one o'clock the next morning, I heard my 
 guides stirring ; and soon after, we all met, and con- 
 gratulated each other on the fineness of the weather. 
 The planet Jupiter was shining magnificently over the 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 129 
 
 Grandes Jorasses, and the moon, three weeks old, was 
 just rising over the Aiguille du Dru. I had felt a little 
 uneasy during the night owing to hearing some strong 
 gusts of wind ; but they had now quite died away ; 
 and the silence was unbroken, save by the steady roar 
 of the many small torrents falling from the opposite 
 rocks, and lesser glaciers, into the Mer de Glace. It 
 was not in the least cold. By a quarter after two we 
 were on foot ; and after half an hour's walk by moonlight, 
 we came to the precipitous face of rock called Les 
 Ponts, a point which we passed without difficulty, after 
 which we were soon fairly launched upon the Mer de 
 Glace. We took the route leading to the Jardin, as far 
 as the moraines at the foot of the Couvercle, and then 
 coasted along them as far as the Tacul, where we ar- 
 rived at half past four. The sky now appeared of the 
 most exquisite rose colour over the Couvercle, and of 
 a fine yellow over the Aiguilles Rouges, behind the 
 Flegere. Once, before it was light, during our progress, 
 one of the guides cut a step or two for us in the ice 
 with the axe which he carried for that purpose, and it 
 was curious to see it strike fire on the gritty surface. 
 At the foot of the Tacul I had some spiked nails screwed 
 into the soles of my shoes. 
 
 Whilst this was doing, I gazed with renewed * won- 
 
 * I had had nearly the same view before, when I visited the 
 Jardin. 
 
 K 
 
130 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 der at the glacier du Talefre, and at the glacier du 
 Tacul, which latter we were so soon to be in the act 
 of scaling. 
 
 The sun was now shining brilliantly on the highest 
 peaks ; there was no vapour or cloud visible ; nor was 
 there any wind, save a moderate breeze. Nothing 
 could be more wonderful than the conviction that there 
 were many hours of uncertain labour before us in the 
 passage of the glacier, which from hence, in the clear 
 morning air, appeared so little formidable. The wea- 
 ther was so fine that the eye was deceived as to height 
 and distance even more than usual. 
 
 At about half past five, on a steep slope of snow 
 considerably above us, under the Aiguille du Grepon, 
 I saw, to my great delight, a troop of about fifteen 
 chamois. They were not tumbling down precipices 
 upon their heads, nor exhibiting themselves in any of 
 the conventional attitudes in which they are repre- 
 sented in the picture shops ; but were filing gently a- 
 cross the snow, one after another, just as you see deer 
 in a park ; nor did they appear to take any notice of us. 
 
 Hereabouts we came to some ugly crevasses in the 
 glacier, with snow bridges over them, which had a trea- 
 cherous look, owing to the new-fallen snow of Friday 
 last, which still lay thickly on this part of the glacier. 
 In fact, we were now beginning to attain a conside- 
 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 131 
 
 rable height. Next, we came to several crevasses in 
 succession, extending, to all appearance, right acros s 
 the glacier ; these in many places were of great width; 
 but we found narrow places in all of them, so that we 
 passed them with ease. By six o'clock we had ascended 
 the glacier to about the level of the Jardin* (or per- 
 haps not quite so high) which we now saw, at a distance, 
 in its solitude, insulated in the upper part of the glacier 
 du Talefre. 
 
 Soon afterwards, we got into the heart of the glacier 
 du Tacul, and Devouassoud went ahead of us all to 
 explore the way. Here we came to some really bad 
 places, which we passed, with care and patience, and 
 which elicited from Coutet the pithy remark — " Sacre- 
 bleu ! II fait bien mauvais ici cette annee ! " — an opi- 
 nion that, as soon as it was uttered, was confirmed by 
 the thundering fall of a huge pyramid of ice, not far 
 from us, which was dashed in pieces by the shock ; and 
 it was curious to see that which but a moment before 
 was a gigantic towering column, streaming in white 
 powder down the icy channels beneath : and to make 
 matters yet more startling, we had directly afterwards 
 to pass another dangerous place, close under an over- 
 
 * According to Professor Forbes, the height above the sea of 
 the lowest part of the Jardin is 9042, and of the highest part 
 9893 English feet. 
 
132 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 hanging cliff of ice, dripping wet in the morning sun, 
 that seemed every moment ready to fall upon us. 
 " Depechons nous ici !" was the prevailing sentiment ; 
 and indeed I think we all had reason to feel rather ner- 
 vous in this part of the glacier. We now, however, 
 got some breathing time on a small plain of snow ; and 
 afterwards, for a little while, continued our progress up 
 the glacier, without having to pass any bad crevasses ; 
 we were aided too, rather than impeded, by the new- 
 fallen snow, the softness of which took off the danger 
 that would otherwise have existed of slipping upon the 
 ice. Hitherto our progress had been very slow, and we 
 had been obliged to make many counter-marches, so 
 that it was now past seven o'clock. 
 
 I will observe, by the way, that it is quite impossible 
 for the most extravagant pencil to exaggerate the out- 
 lines of glacier scenery. We found every variety of 
 the most abrupt angular masses of icy cliffs, crags, 
 pyramids, and pillars ; and huge piers, supporting su- 
 perincumbent strata of ice, twisted and moulded, as 
 though by the operation of heat and excessive pres- 
 sure, into such wavy figures as volcanic lavas are 
 often seen to take. And, to compare small things 
 with great, on looking at certain of these configura- 
 tions, I could not help thinking of a stick of sealing 
 wax, which had been held for some time in a warm 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 133 
 
 hand, and as it relaxed from its rigidity, had been 
 gradually forced into a curved shape. Our general 
 line of march was not up the centre of the glacier, but 
 lay nearer the right side of it, as you face the Col. 
 
 Soon afterwards, in consequence of our coming to a 
 very bad crevasse, Devouassoud was again sent out to 
 explore apassage in one direction, and Coutet in another, 
 leaving me and the two others together. Here, a large 
 wasp, apparently puzzled, like ourselves, came buzzing 
 round us. We were at fault here for some time. At 
 last, a very narrow bridge of ice was seen at some little 
 distance, which by its darker colour appeared to be old 
 ice, and therefore firm. This bridge, if such it may be 
 called, lay on our right, many feet above us ; and the 
 question was how to reach it. Devouassoud, with ad- 
 mirable coolness, yet running risks which made me 
 feel almost faint with anxiety as I witnessed them, 
 managed, by the help of steps which he cut with his 
 axe in the solid ice, to scramble up to the base of a 
 small column of ice, that communicated with a sort of 
 platform, on which there was firm, though scanty, 
 standing room, and whence the bridge might be im- 
 mediately reached. The ice column looked insecure ; 
 and the more so, from the quantity of brilliantly white 
 fresh-fallen snow that had lodged against it. Its firm- 
 ness, however, was put to the proof by blows with an 
 
134 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 ice pole, and it was partially cleared of the fresh snow. 
 Devouassoud, then cautiously cut steps round its exte- 
 rior surface, and so ascended to the platform, followed 
 by another guide, who held one end of a strong cord, 
 the other end of which was tied round my body. I 
 then followed them. The two guides, now firmly placed 
 on the platform, held the cord slackly, not intending 
 to use it unless it was required. It was agreed that 
 they should tighten it if I called out to them to do so, 
 and not else. Thus I wound my way, in their footsteps, 
 carefully round the column ; with yawning gulfs, formed 
 by crevasses intersecting crevasses in every possible 
 direction, beneath me ; steadying myself with one hand, 
 and holding the cord loosely between the finger and 
 thumb of the other; like a child who learns to walk by 
 holding up its frock before it ; confidence in either case 
 being the only support really required. The other two 
 guides followed me. We then all crossed the narrow 
 bridge of ice without difficulty, and descending by a 
 low, yet perpendicular cliff of ice, we resumed our 
 line of march, leaving this formidable crevasse behind 
 us. It was now eight o'clock. Soon after this the 
 glacier changed its appearance altogether. As we 
 ascended, we found more fresh snow, and fewer cre- 
 vasses; but there was no less need of caution. Here 
 we all tied ourselves together with two stout cords, and 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 135 
 
 proceeded for half an hour more, until we came to a 
 convenient place for halting ; where we stopped, and 
 took some breakfast ; having had a laborious walk of 
 more than six hours from the Montanvert, almost en- 
 tirely over ice. 
 
 Here I accidentally let fall on the snow the case of 
 the green spectacles which I wore on this expedition. 
 It immediately began to glide away, as if animated, and 
 disappeared down a crevasse at about eighty yards be- 
 low us. Nothing is safe for an instant if not well looked 
 after on these treacherous slopes. In order to prevent 
 a like mischance happening to our poles, the loss of any 
 of which would have been a serious matter, we took 
 care never to let them out of our hands without first 
 sticking them firmly upright in the snow by their 
 pointed ends. 
 
 Whilst we were in the middle of the glacier, I could 
 not help remarking what ridiculous figures we all were, 
 equipped with blouses, frieze gaiters, green spectacles, 
 veils, and slouched hats, pacing along with the most 
 solemn gravity. Devouassoud, in particular, with huge 
 spectacles, and his hat tied on with a handkerchief 
 under his chin, supporting himself with his stick, was 
 no bad representative of Mother Goose. 
 
 After our repast we resumed our march exactly as 
 before. At a quarter before ten we came on the fresh 
 
136 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 track of more chamois, but we saw none. Mont 
 Blanc now appeared on our right in a rocky opening 
 by the side of the glacier ; and I stood in mute surprise 
 to see how astonishingly diminished in height it now 
 appeared, and how close to us ; yet in reality it was 
 more than six thousand feet above us, and, on that 
 side, wholly inaccessible. We hence pursued our course 
 up a long and steep ascent of snow, in one monotonous 
 zig-zag, interrupted only by our sinking knee-deep into 
 the soft snow, and by the counter-marches it was ne- 
 cessary to make in order to find snow bridges strong 
 enough to bear us across the crevasses with which the 
 snow, or serac,* was at this height intersected. 
 
 Some of these bridges were on principles decidedly 
 unmechanical ; with a downward, and not an upward 
 curve ; fringed with dripping icicles many feet long. 
 Such as these we carefully avoided. In many places 
 we saw creases in the smooth snow, under which we 
 found incipient cracks, and crevasses, of a few inches 
 only in width, showing the perpetual changes going on 
 in these wonderful regions, so that no two journeys 
 
 * " On appelle Seracs des parallelipipedes, des cubes, et 
 d'autres formes un peu regulieres de glace et neige, qu'on ren- 
 contre a de grandes hauteurs. La denomination provient d'une 
 espece de fromage blanc, fait dans les monlagnes, auquel on 
 donne des formes semblables." — Relation du Docteur Hamel, &c. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 137 
 
 across them can be made under the same circum- 
 stances. And now the bare outline of the summit of 
 the Col seemed to lie just before us ; it was not, how- 
 ever, until after nearly another hour's labour over the 
 inclined plane of eternal snow (glacier no longer) 
 that we actually found ourselves upon the highest 
 ridge, 11,142 feet above the level of the sea ;* having 
 attained our point not without some hard work, and 
 undergoing some risks ; but without any painful de- 
 gree of fatigue, and without experiencing any ill effects 
 whatever from the rarity of the air.-j- The cool, silent 
 precautions of my guides throughout were beyond all 
 praise. 
 
 But it is not desirable, and it is scarcely possible to 
 remain long on the uppermost ridge. You must make 
 immediately for the rocky buttress where Saussure's 
 cabin stood. In order to reach this spot, you pass a 
 very dangerous steep snow slope, terminating abruptly 
 in an enormous crevasse, on the summit of the glacier 
 of Mont Frety, on the side towards Piedmont. Here, 
 if any unhappy being should chance to slide down, he 
 would be precipitated over the edge of the serac, into 
 the crevasse ; or, possibly, he might shoot right over 
 it, into blank air, and fall ultimately on some spires of 
 
 * Forbes. t See ascent of Etna, in this Volume. 
 
138 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 rock at a terrific depth below. In crossing this slope 
 the new-fallen snow stood us in good stead. It was 
 exactly of the proper consistency for walking upon 
 safely and easily : nevertheless, it appeared to me to 
 be a place where, in some states of the weather, an 
 avalanche might easily be detached, carrying all before 
 it, and with it, over the precipice. 
 
 Devouassoud told me that on one occasion, on 
 passing this spot, he found it an entire sheet of ice, so 
 that he was obliged to cut steps with his axe right 
 across its whole length in order to reach the rocks. 
 These, however, we now attained without difficulty ; 
 and, on arriving, we congratulated one another on the 
 success that had hitherto attended our expedition, and 
 commenced forthwith an attack on our remaining pro- 
 visions. 
 
 From this point the view to the north is quite shut 
 out : but on turning to the south, on the right is the 
 summit of Mont Blanc, with its dependant glaciers, 
 and precipitous buttresses and outworks ; in truth, a 
 sublime and wonderful sight. Below, lies the Allee 
 Blanche ; further, amidst a wilderness of Alps, not 
 fewer than five enormous peaks of mountains appa- 
 rently little lower than Mont Blanc, and of outlines 
 quite as grand ; nearer, rose the Cramont, and the Pain 
 de Sucre; hard by which was the little town of Cour- 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 139 
 
 mayeur, and the adjacent valleys ; and thus (not to cata- 
 logue the remaining mountains) the eye passed east- 
 wards towards Mount Rosa, and the glorious Cervin. 
 Most fortunately there was no haze or vapour to in- 
 tercept the wonders of the view ; there were only a few 
 white clouds here and there, rather setting off, than 
 marring, the proportions and magnitudes of the moun- 
 tains before us, infinite in number and majesty. 
 
 No description can convey an adequate idea of this 
 side of Mont Blanc, and of the appearance of the de- 
 scent from the summit of the Col du Geant towards 
 Courmayeur. 
 
 Whilst we were gazing at the view, our attention 
 was arrested by a hissing noise, which we found to 
 proceed from the snow on a very long and precipitous 
 slope to our right, the surface of which, under the in- 
 fluence of the noon-day sun, began to slide in gentle 
 avalanches down towards the rocks beneath. We im- 
 mediately, merely for the sake of amusement, com- 
 menced hurling stones, as large as we could lift, down 
 the slope, in hopes of augmenting the avalanches, but 
 it was wholly without effect. The velocity, however, 
 which these stones acquired before they reached the 
 bottom of the slope, and the force with which they 
 dashed against the rocks below, bursting asunder in 
 clouds of dust, was a striking sight. Two of my guides 
 
140 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 succeeded in detaching a very large mass, which rolled 
 down with tremendous violence ; but it had no more 
 effect on the snow than the smaller ones. 
 
 Some of the boards of Saussure's cabin, alluded to 
 above, still remain on this spot. Here it was that in 
 his devotedness to science that distinguished philosopher 
 passed seventeen days and nights. The debris of rock 
 here contain a vast quantity of crystals ; and here we 
 found a portion of the broken stem of a thermometer. 
 We also saw several butterflies whilst we remained 
 on the summit. We had, earlier in the day, seen 
 several dead and dying insects on the surface of the 
 snow, and one or two dead half-fledged birds. 
 
 We remained on the summit of the Col until a quar- 
 ter before one, and then commenced the descent to- 
 wards Courmayeur. Our way lay down a long preci- 
 pice of loose rocks and stones, fortunately free from 
 snow. This descent, together with a glissade of snow 
 much lower down, and after that, a steep descent of 
 rude mountain pasture, occupied us, without intermis- 
 sion, until past three o'clock ; when we made another 
 halt, at the tail of a snow slope, from under which 
 there issued a delicious stream of ice-cold water. Here 
 we finished our wine, and congratulated each other 
 sincerely on the success of our expedition ; for now all 
 difficulties were past ; and I will not deny having 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 141 
 
 looked up at the frowning battlements of ice on which 
 we had been so lately standing, with the most exhila- 
 rating sensations. 
 
 During the descent, I was much struck with the 
 towering magnificence of the distant Mont Velan, which 
 I had seen in great beauty, when on an excursion to 
 the Great St. Bernard, a fortnight before. 
 
 The beauty of the scenery below, about Courmayeur, 
 as seen during the descent, exceeds any thing which 
 the vale of Chamonix affords. 
 
 Other steep pastures, fir w r oods, and a succession of 
 green sloping meadows, led us finally down into the 
 vale of Courmayeur at a quarter past five. Here, just 
 as we had reached the bottom, although I felt in no 
 respect unpleasantly fatigued, I was attacked by a 
 giddiness so sudden and violent, that I fell against a 
 young ash tree, and thence headlong down a soft 
 grassy bank. My guides, in alarm, ran to my assist- 
 ance, and in less than a minute I was perfectly re- 
 stored ; nor was I in the least hurt by the fall. This 
 kind of attack I never before experienced. I have no 
 doubt of its having been occasioned by changing the 
 air of the glacier, and of the Col, for that of the valley, 
 which we all found very hot and close. I continued 
 my walk with great caution for a little way, apprehen- 
 sive lest the seizure should return : but finding that on 
 
142 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 crossing a narrow wooden bridge over a foaming tor- 
 rent, I could stand and look at the troubled waters 
 without inconvenience, I dismissed the subject from 
 my mind, convinced that the indisposition was merely 
 transient. And so it proved. We at length reached 
 Courmayeur at six o'clock, having been on foot for 
 fifteen hours and three quarters. In the evening I 
 experienced a very slight bleeding at the nose. I 
 slept well that night, and the next morning felt little 
 or no remains of fatigue. 
 
 There is no part of the passage of the Col du Geant, 
 from Chamonix to Courmayeur, that is extraordinarily 
 fatiguing ; though the glacier is sure to be in a state 
 more or less dangerous, and the summit of the Col 
 towards Courmayeur may be in a very dangerous state 
 indeed. The excitement is unceasing, and the atten- 
 tion perpetually occupied. I have really been very 
 fortunate in my mountain excursions ; and have been 
 well rewarded for paying a little patient attention to 
 the turns of the weather, which is in a very unsettled 
 state. We had scarcely arrived at Courmayeur, when 
 dark clouds began to gather round the summit of Mont 
 Blanc, and soon after, over the Col du Geant ; and at 
 dusk it came on to rain heavily, with thunder and 
 lightning. 
 
 I had no fellow-traveller with me on this occasion ; 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 143 
 
 and I am sure that in all excursions out of the common 
 run it is best to perform them alone ; that is to say, 
 accompanied only by the necessary guides. Much 
 time must be lost when the party is a large one ; and 
 it is evident that in dangerous places the fewer that 
 have to cross them the better. With respect to passing 
 the Col du Geant, I think, on the whole, it is better to 
 go from Courmayeur to Chamonix, than from Chamo- 
 nix to Courmayeur. It may be a question, in case of 
 bad weather, which is the better place of the two to be 
 detained at : but at Chamonix you are sure of getting 
 good guides at a short notice ; and if you intend start- 
 ing from Courmayeur, you must send round to Cha- 
 monix for a guide to be the leader of the party, and 
 must keep him with you till you start. Also, on the 
 Chamonix side, in passing the glacier, you are going 
 up hill all the way, whereby you obtain a better sight 
 of your main difficulties ; which also you thus encounter 
 early in the day's work. But on the other hand, should 
 the rocky precipice on the side of Courmayeur have 
 any snow upon it, the ascent would probably be better 
 than the descent; however, in such a case it would per- 
 haps be the more prudent plan to defer the expedition 
 altogether. 
 
 The next morning (Wednesday August 7) was fine 
 after the rain and thunder of the night ; but we ob- 
 
144 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 served that fresh snow had fallen on the heights, and 
 that the precipitous rocky descent of the Col was now 
 gray with snow; so that had we delayed our expedi- 
 tion a single day longer, it would in all probability have 
 failed. At eight o'clock I left Courmayeur with my 
 guides, and proceeded by the Col de la Seigne, to 
 Chapuy,* our quarters for the night. We were scarcely 
 housed, about dusk, before a thunderstorm came on ; 
 during which, I saw, by a blaze of lightning, three 
 children of the hamlet sitting on the grassy slope of 
 the mountain, not heeding the weather, and no one 
 heeding them. The rain at last drove them in. One 
 had a bowl of milk in his hand ; and another a wreath 
 of Alpine flowers. The next morning we went on by 
 the Col du Bon Homme, to the baths of St. Gervais. 
 Here I bade farewell to my trusty guides, shaking 
 them all four cordially by the hand at parting. They 
 were, of course, going home to Chamonix. I went on 
 to St. Martin ; and the next morning returned, by the 
 Diligence, to Geneva. 
 
 Geneva, August, 1844. 
 
 * Orthography doubtful. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 145 
 
 THE TABLE D'HOTE. 
 
 YE travellers all in realms remote, 
 Give ear unto the doleful note 
 Of one who sings the Table d' H6te. 
 Curst Table d' Hote ! In blank despair 
 You sit, and sit, until your chair 
 Seems stuffed with nettles (I've no patience 
 With these reunions of nations) 
 Awaiting, after long inaction, 
 Repletion without satisfaction ; 
 Till like lulus, you feel able 
 To masticate the very table.* 
 And when you're served, the soup is cold; 
 The wine is hot ; the poultry old ; 
 Nay, whatsoe'er the meat you're picking, 
 One truth is clear — it is no chicken. 
 Not Pandemonium's strife surpasses 
 The clang of dishes — clash of glasses — 
 And Babel seems let loose at once 
 In new confusion of all tongues; 
 
 * " Nos etiara mensas consumimus," inquit lulus. — 
 
 VIRGIL. 
 L 
 
14G MEMORIALS IN 
 
 And hurrying, pert, perspiring- waiters 
 Heed not the guests, but him who caters. 
 Now the bassoon, with loud uproar, 
 And fiddles five, are at the door ! 
 And to escape from meat and music, 
 Either of which would turn a Jew sick, 
 You rise from table in affliction ; 
 Not blessing, but with malediction ; 
 For you have earned, beyond all question, 
 To save trente sous, a grievous indigestion. 
 
 Geneva, August, 1844. 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 147 
 
 LE PLAN DES DAMES. 11 
 
 YOU see this natural platform, carpeted 
 With turf, close nibbled by the mountain sheep 
 Here rest a moment. Is it not a place 
 Where musically-ankled damosels 
 Might wear away a summer's day in mirth, 
 Tripping it featly to the merry pipe 
 Of hill-side shepherd ? Yet the mountaineer 
 Who goes this way, hushes his snatch of song, 
 And with a thoughtful visage casts a stone — 
 One more — upon the mouldering pile you see. 
 The tale is this. One summer, long ago, 
 Attended as their station well became, 
 Two sisters journeying from distant climes 
 (As thousands do, as we ourselves are doing) 
 To gaze on Alpine wonders, here were caught 
 In the rude tourmente, big with baffling winds, 
 And thunder ; blinding all the air with snow 
 Unseasonable ; and transfixed with cold 
 And fear, they in each other's arms entwined 
 Fainted and died. A shepherd found them thus. 
 Their servants fled, and perished further down. 
 
148 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 And since that day no traveller has passed by, 
 That has not cast a stone upon the place 
 To mark it. Thus the pyramid — and thus — 
 By imperceptible degrees has grown 
 To what w r e see it. In this breathless calm, 
 In this soft sunshine, let us pause, and think 
 On what our own tranquillity is based. 
 But now take up your havresack and staff ; 
 For we must foot it with a right good will 
 To reach Chapuy ere nightfall. Come away ! 
 
 August, 1844. 
 
THOSE AND VERSE. 149 
 
 FAREWELL.— CROSSING THE JURA IN 
 BAD WEATHER. 
 
 TIME and space we have vanquished by motions 
 and means, 
 That from climate to climate enticed us to fly ; 
 But the charm is wound up : the thick crowding of 
 
 scenes 
 By their magical richness bewildering the eye, 
 The large suns of the south — the volcano — the peak 
 Glacier-crested — the soul-breathing marvels of art — 
 May delay us no more ; we have turned to reseek 
 Homeward themes, that sink deepest of all in the heart. 
 
 And yet fain would I linger. What though I must be 
 From henceforth passing rich in dear memory's hoard, 
 More abundantly gifted than mortal is he 
 Opportunities lost who has never deplored. 
 May I not from this station, thou mist-shrouded sky, 
 Glance a farewell to lake, mountain, river, and plain ? 
 No ! Then thanks, gloomy Jura, for clouds that deny 
 The one glance that might lure the weak will back again. 
 
150 MEMORIALS IN 
 
 I have heard, seen, and felt ; my youth's favourite boast 
 Is accomplished ; my cup full as man may desire ; 
 I return by mischance and vexation uncrossed ; 
 Love journeyed with me too unmingled to tire. 
 Dear companions ! Loved twain ! How the meekness 
 
 of age, 
 How the freshness of childhood, each perfect in you, 
 Have midst scenes of excitement abated the rage 
 Of my overwrought spirit to a poise just and true. 
 
 And the justice and truth shall endure to the end ; 
 And knowledge unbiassed her sceptre assume ; 
 And thereafter shall rainbow-draped fancy befriend 
 Us the more, and her own rosy morning illume. 
 She shall build us a bark self-impelled o'er the sea ; 
 She shall weave us a bridge than a sunbeam more rare ; 
 She shall give the word — wings at our shoulders shall 
 
 play; 
 She shall speed us like light by land, ocean, and air. 
 
 Now with clouds overhead whilst towards home we are 
 
 rolled, 
 We will muse on endearing realities there : 
 But look ! the clouds break with rims like burnished 
 
 gold ; 
 In this region around us the prospect how fair ! 
 
PROSE AND VERSE. 151 
 
 But our thoughts with the vine-slopes and woodlands of 
 
 France 
 Will not rest ; they bound o'er the chalk cliff — o'er the 
 
 tide; 
 Thoughts that far off or near are still ready to dance 
 Round the spot where the parent affections abide. 
 
 Every sense grows impatient : neat spires — village 
 
 cocks — 
 The moist perfumes of autumn from crushed forest 
 
 leaves — 
 Hazel hedgerows, and stubble-fields studded with 
 
 shocks 
 Of ripe grain — the dark back-ground of green that 
 
 relieves 
 The light smoke the red creeper-twined chimney that 
 
 crowns — 
 Cottage children that play round the elm's knotty bole — 
 Shadows coursing each other o'er cool breezy downs — 
 All the vision of England comes back on my soul ! 12 
 
 September, 1844. 
 
152 OBSERVATIONS ON 
 
 OBSERVATIONS ON IMITATION, AND 
 
 ESPECIALLY SCULPTURE, 
 
 SUGGESTED BY WORKS OF ART AT HOME 
 
 AND ABROAD. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Parallel drawn between a Simile and a Statue — Abstract Qua- 
 lities of Sculpture — Sculpture is of no Style — Derives its 
 Expression from Form alone — Is, geometrically, of three Di- 
 mensions — Unity of Action requisite in a Statue — Sculpture 
 not a popular Art — Painting is, geometrically, of two Dimen- 
 sions — Unity of Action in Painting — Resources of the Painter 
 — Venial Faults — Quotation from Sir Joshua Reynolds — The 
 World of Painting removed from external Objects — Figures 
 erroneously said to appear to come out of the Canvas — Ano- 
 malous Works of certain ancient Masters — Large'Groups of 
 Figures are admissible in Painting — But not in Sculpture — 
 Examples — Cameos — [ntaglios — Basso-rilievos — Alto-rilie- 
 vos — The Laocoon — Single Figures more suitable to Sculpture 
 than Groups — Examples of single Figures unsuitable to Sculp- 
 ture — Sculpture degenerates when domesticated — Objects of 
 three Dimensions mixed with those of two— Stage Scenery — 
 Its Misapplication — Palladio's Theatre at Vicenza — Perform- 
 ance of the Tempest in London — Quotation from the Rejected 
 Addresses — Tableaux Vivans— The Winter's Tale — Statues 
 
IMITATION. 153 
 
 adorned witb Jewellery — China Figures — The Daguerrotype 
 — Portraits of Actors in Character — Naturalness — Sculpture 
 the most perfect of the Arts — Conclusion. 
 
 JUVENAL'S "nequeo monstrare et sentio tantum" 
 — the " felt but undefined" — seems at first the only- 
 account to be given of the pleasure enjoyed in the con- 
 templation of works of art, and especially of Sculpture : 
 but a little consideration shows it to be analogous to 
 the pleasure derived from a simile, which Dr. Johnson 
 defines to be " the discovery of likeness between two 
 actions in their general nature dissimilar, or of causes 
 terminating by different operations in some resemblance 
 of effect." And again he says, "A simile may be 
 compared to lines converging in a point, and is more 
 excellent as the lines approach from greater distance." 
 Life of Addison. And again — " A simile, to be per- 
 fect, must both illustrate and ennoble the subject ; and 
 show it to the understanding in a clearer view, and 
 display it to the fancy with greater dignity." Life of 
 Pope. So, under the hands of the sculptor, a block 
 of marble, every way most unlike the living subject, 
 becomes an enchanting object of intellectual contem- 
 plation. And this is effected (as I shall again have 
 occasion to remark) by the influence of form alone; 
 for in sculpture, the effects of light and shade, and of 
 
154 OBSERVATIONS ON 
 
 perspective, are impossible ; and any attempt at a closer 
 approach to reality by colouring, or other adventitious 
 aids — any mistaken substitution of deception for imita- 
 tion — must defeat its own purpose, and tend, like an 
 exhibition of wax work, to surprise without pleasing 
 the spectator, and to overwhelm him beneath an ineffec- 
 tual load of detail, and lifeless exemplification. 
 
 Sculpture is preeminently distinguished by its purely 
 abstract quality — its ideality — its admitting of but one 
 style, or, rather, admitting of none — its holding the 
 letter in entire subjection to the spirit of the subject — 
 its rejection of realities for the expression of essential 
 verities. If it falls but a little short of this degree of 
 excellence, it is at once repudiated. The sculptor who 
 would pride himself upon his skill in the expression of 
 detail, and rest in that as an end, then cefor wards loses 
 caste ; 
 
 " Infelix operis summa, quia ponere totum 
 
 Nes.ciet" 
 
 Horace. 
 
 All tours deforce — all petty triumphs — all false appli- 
 ances and means, are equally unworthy of his calling. 
 Of this false character are the three following pieces 
 of sculpture in the Chapel of San Severo at Naples ; 
 the Modesty (so called) by Corradini ; Man in the 
 toils of Vice by Queirolo ; and the dead Christ, by 
 
IMITATION. 155 
 
 Giuseppe San Martino ; to which we might add, the 
 popular figures of Tarn O'Shanter, and Souter Johnny, 
 that were exhibited some years ago in our own country. 
 It is not from such efforts as the above, but it is from 
 the pure and abstract specimens of the art, that the 
 mind's eye, as it were, acquires the power of restoring 
 a mutilated statue ; for, provided the relic be first-rate, 
 however its material shape may have been injured, the 
 spectator recals without effort the form of the original 
 conception, as though it were immortal and indiscerp- 
 tible. The Theseus and the Ilissus in the British 
 Museum, and the Antinous in the Vatican, are grand 
 examples of this. Further, these very qualities of lofti- 
 ness and abstraction in form and character exclude 
 nearly all expression from the countenance of a statue, 
 except that which is given to it by the position of the 
 head. The celebrated group of the wrestlers, in the 
 Florence gallery, offers a well-known example. Their 
 features are perfectly calm and unmoved, though the 
 figures themselves appear engaged in the most violent 
 bodily action. On the other hand, the malignant 
 scowl of Canova's gladiators, in the Vatican, adds no- 
 thing to the expression conveyed in their attitudes, 
 and can hardly fail to shock the spectator. Again, 
 who, in witnessing first-rate stage dancing, ever thinks 
 of inquiring whether the performer's countenance is 
 
156 OBSERVATIONS ON 
 
 beautiful or not ? Such exhibitions would be equally 
 effective though the performer wore a mask. Every 
 one must have observed that even in grotesque panto- 
 mime, the masks then worn rarely fail to bear the ap- 
 pearance of varying their expression with the attitudes 
 of the performers. Such is the all-sufficiency of the 
 poetry of form. Hence, however, it follows that sculp- 
 ture is necessarily tied down to rigorous accuracy of 
 outline. For who could bear disproportion in a statue ? 
 who could enter upon a physical question of thews and 
 sinews, when called upon to feel deeply, and to gene- 
 ralize upon moral attributes ? Moreover, a statue, 
 being a solid, is, geometrically speaking, of three di- 
 mensions ; and is, on that very account, brought into 
 such palpable, close, unprotected contact — such imme- 
 diate juxta-position and comparison, with surrounding 
 objects and the breathing world, that it requires to be 
 ensured from meeting with positive contempt by the 
 magic influence of its abstract qualities, with which, as 
 with a kind of divinity, it must be hedged about, or 
 perish. The unities of time and place in a piece of 
 sculpture, are, of course, perfect ; and it is further 
 imperative on the sculptor to preserve its unity of ac- 
 tion perfect. The roughest design ever modelled — 
 the rudest sketch ever dashed off — will be more pleasing 
 than the finished statue that does not quite succeed. 
 
IMITATION. 157 
 
 It is scarcely too much to say that the sculptor ventures 
 for complete success or for total failure. And since 
 the sculptor cannot have a style, he cannot become 
 popular. There cannot be a Hunt or a Wilkie in 
 sculpture. 
 
 In painting, the case is wholly different. A picture 
 is a surface, and is therefore, geometrically speaking, 
 of two dimensions only. Its unities of time and place 
 are necessarily, as in a piece of sculpture, perfect; 
 and so ought its unity of action to be ; albeit, greater 
 latitude is allowed to the painter in its developement. 
 Nay, some latitude is allowed him even as regards the 
 unity of time ; for a picture may, as it often does, 
 present circumstances to the spectator, which assist in 
 telling the story, but which could not have occurred 
 at one and the same instant. Besides, the painter 
 produces his effect by a knowledge of colouring, light 
 and shade, outline, and perspective ; each indeed re- 
 quiring separate study, but each contributing its dis- 
 tinct resources, combining at last in favour of the 
 painter. Many faults in the above particulars are 
 venial : nor is it true, as sometimes asserted, that false 
 drawing in a picture is as unpardonable as false gram- 
 mar in writing.* Not because the art of painting has 
 
 * It is possible to throw a veil even over a grammatical 
 
158 
 
 OBSERVATIONS ON 
 
 in itself no abstract quality ; far from it ; but because 
 the faults can be artificially concealed ; they, therefore, 
 do not interfere with the delight of the spectator. In 
 matters of art, " ce n'est pas pecher que pecher en 
 silence." 
 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds (Notes to Fresnoy, 37) says, 
 — " From the various ancient paintings which have 
 come down to us, we may form a judgment with tole- 
 rable accuracy of the excellencies and the defects of 
 the arts among the ancients. There can be no doubt 
 but that the same correctness of design was required 
 from the painter as from the sculptor ; and if what has 
 happened in the case of sculpture, had likewise hap- 
 pened in regard to their paintings, and we had the 
 good fortune to possess what the ancients themselves 
 esteemed their master-pieces, I have no doubt but we 
 should find their figures as correctly drawn as the 
 Laocoon, and probably coloured like Titian." But, 
 with deference, does it necessarily follow that the pain- 
 ters contemporary with the sculptor of the Laocoon 
 would even in their " masterpieces" always draw un- 
 
 error. For example, in the Book of Common Prayer, in the 
 exordium — " Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of 
 his goodness to give you safe deliverance, and hath preserved 
 you in the great danger of Child-birth ; &c." — the beauty of 
 the rhythm is such that it is not immediately perceived that the 
 verb " hath preserved" has no nominative case. 
 
IMITATION. 159 
 
 erringly, although they must be supposed to have per- 
 fectly understood the principles of drawing ? Further, 
 how can a statue be said to be " drawn " ? Drawing 
 is a word which can only be applied to that which is 
 supposed to be behind, and which is exhibited or 
 projected upon, a plane surface, which is the limit of 
 the approach that the object in a picture can make 
 towards the spectator; and the world of painting, as 
 it were, thus becomes a region safely removed from 
 the interference of external objects. Hence, it follows 
 that the lowest degree of the art, down to the posi- 
 tively bad, and even wretched, will never be without 
 advocates and supporters ; because a picture never can 
 cease altogether to be imitation — never through the 
 meretricious blandishments of false taste, to whatever 
 pitch of enormity they may be carried, can risk the 
 entire loss of its denomination and character ; a loss 
 which infallibly befals the sculpture that sinks at all 
 below a certain limit, or oversteps the modesty of the 
 rules that are naturally, and not arbitrarily, assigned 
 to it. The Transfiguration of Raphael, and the ve- 
 riest sign-post daub, are both of them pictures : but 
 the Theseus of the Parthenon, and Wyatt's Newfound- 
 land dog in variegated marbles, are not both of them 
 statues. 
 
 In common parlance a particular figure or limb in 
 
160 OBSERVATIONS ON 
 
 a picture, is often said to appear to come out of the 
 canvas. This only means that it is more prominent 
 than the other component parts of the picture : the 
 very utmost it can do is to appear to push the plane of 
 the canvas before it: for, otherwise, it would be an 
 imitation of a basso-rilievo, and not a picture. Ano- 
 malies are to be met with in the works of the early 
 painters, that are neither examples of, nor exceptions 
 to, any thing that has here been stated. To take a 
 solitary instance, in the Brera gallery at Milan, is a 
 painting by Carlo Crivelli (a. d. 1412) of the Virgin 
 and Child, with attendant saints, in three compart- 
 ments ; each compartment being painted, not upon a 
 plane, but upon a convex surface of wood. Several 
 ornaments appertaining to the dresses of the figures, 
 and the keys borne by St. Peter, are attached bodily 
 by gilt wires to the external surface of the painting. 
 But from the hardness of the outlines, the palpable 
 erroneousness of the perspective, which renders criti- 
 cism impossible, and the severe character of the whole, 
 the above peculiarities do not in the least detract 
 from its effect, which, owing to its sentiment and rich 
 colouring, is very grand and solemn. 
 
 Painting may, with the greatest propriety, consist 
 of large groups of figures ; a further instance of the 
 latitude allowed to the painter in the dev elopement of 
 
IMITATION. lGi 
 
 his action. But in sculpture, if an historical subject, 
 for example, consisting perhaps of fifteen or twenty 
 personages, were attempted to be represented, though 
 each particular figure, like the figures in the Niobe 
 gallery at Florence, might be admirably executed, yet 
 the whole would be little better than a spectral assem- 
 blage encroaching to an intolerable degree upon ex- 
 ternal objects. Of this nature is the uncouth, ill- 
 devised monument erected to the memory of Canova 
 in the church of the Frari at Venice, which I cannot 
 believe to have been designed by himself. Again, 
 Samson slaying the Philistines might be represented 
 in painting, but not in sculpture. Again, the cele- 
 brated marble group of the Dirce, at Naples, may be 
 objected to on account of the number of figures it con- 
 tains. Another, and a very singular instance, is the 
 marble group of the fall of Lucifer and his angels, by 
 Agostino Fagiolato, in the Palazzo Papafava at Padua. 
 It is about five feet high, and contains sixty figures ; 
 the whole being said to be cut out of a single block. 
 In spite of the ingenuity exhibited by the artist, it 
 strikes the eye at once that the whole is supported by 
 a base which is of greater diameter than any other 
 part of the group, so that a pyramid of figures is re- 
 presented, a form which of necessity carries the eye 
 upwards instead of downwards, and suggests the idea 
 
162 OBSERVATIONS ON 
 
 of a rise instead of a fall. Moreover, under its glass 
 case, when seen from a little distance, it looks, owing 
 to its complexity, not unlike a specimen of stalactite, 
 or some calcareous marine formation, such as we see 
 in museums of natural history. It is perhaps the most 
 curious example of perverted art in existence. In all 
 these examples the unity of action is violated. At the 
 same time, such subjects may very properly be repre- 
 sented in a cameo or intaglio, or in a basso-rilievo, in 
 which the figures are, as in a picture, referred to one 
 general plane surface; a principle certainly acknow- 
 ledged in the following graphic passage from the Pro- 
 messi Sposi (cap. iv.), where it is said of two persons, 
 neither of whom will suffer the other to take the wall — 
 " Quei due si venivano incontro, entrambi stretti alia 
 muraglia, come due figure di basso rilievo ambulanti." 
 Again, the fine spiral illusion of Trajan's column af- 
 fords a magnificent example of the properties of bas- 
 so-rilievo. Alto-rilievos, on the contrary, are rarely 
 finely conceived. In them statuary appears to be ap- 
 plied bodily to a background, to which they are hardly 
 referable ; and this gives them a confused character. 
 Their fault is a lack of distinctness of purpose ; their 
 unity of action is broken and disturbed ; the spectator 
 is left in doubt whether the artist intended them to be, 
 geometrically speaking, of two or of three dimensions. 
 
IiMITATION. 163 
 
 The Laocoon, in the Vatican, is not so much a 
 group, as a single figure exquisitely garnished and set 
 out. The two children, as they are called, have evi- 
 dently been introduced merely as accessories, and to 
 assist in telling the story. Moreover, they modify the 
 outline of the whole ; whilst their very impossibility 
 confines the main interest to the principal figure, 
 which is a perfect example of the oneness attributable 
 to sculpture. 
 
 Again, for example, let Cupid chaining a lion be re- 
 presented in sculpture. Agreeably to the abstract 
 spirit, the natural relative proportions of the figures 
 need not be sustained. The lion may with propriety 
 be represented even smaller than the Cupid ; for the 
 object is to embody an allegory — the triumph of love 
 over brute force — and not the taming of a real lion by 
 a child, which possibly such a group might assume the 
 appearance of, if it were exactly proportioned. But 
 let the same subject be represented on canvas. Now, 
 no such liberty can be taken with the relative propor- 
 tions ; for the art of painting is endowed with accesso- 
 ries sufficient to secure it against misinterpretation, 
 and is, in return, pledged to fidelity. It has been 
 remarked that the boats are too small, in Raphael's 
 cartoon of the miraculous draught of fishes ; but that 
 remark would never have been made, had that subject 
 
164 OBSERVATIONS ON 
 
 been represented in basso-rilievo. From this, coupled 
 with the foregoing remarks, it may be easily deduced, 
 that the number of figures in a piece of sculpture 
 ought not to exceed two or three ; and that the most 
 intellectual efforts of the chisel are single figures. 
 
 It will follow too from what has already been said, 
 that, because sculpture is wholly without the soft- 
 ening accessories of drawing, there are many single 
 figures which it may not attempt to represent. Such 
 a figure as the lame beggar at the Beautiful Gate of 
 the temple, in Raphael's cartoon, would not be bear- 
 able in sculpture : nor can I think that the statue of 
 the lame man by Pythagoras of Leontium, mentioned 
 in high terms of praise by Pliny, could have been an 
 agreeable object of contemplation. In the Florence 
 gallery, the statue by Donatello, of St. John in the 
 wilderness, in an emaciated state, is a similar instance. 
 Works of imitation are not all admirable because re- 
 presented to the life. 
 
 Sculpture, born to lofty flights, and unbounded 
 range of thought, degenerates as soon as domesticated : 
 but painting, by admitting a lower tone, becomes fitted 
 for the cabinet as well as the gallery. It has been 
 observed of Chantrey that his imaginative subjects lost 
 much of their intellectual intention after he had been 
 long engaged in the execution of busts and portraits 
 
IMITATION. 165 
 
 in marble : on the other hand, the poet Cowper's well- 
 known effusion beginning " O that those lips had lan- 
 guage ! " owes its tenderness to its being addressed to a 
 picture. He would never have so dwelt upon the 
 scenes of his childhood, and introduced his readers 
 into the very nursery, in lines penned to his Mother's 
 Statue. 
 
 As we have seen is the case in alto-rilievos, objects 
 of three dimensions are often injudiciously mingled 
 with those of two, in stage scenery, and in its kindred 
 branches of imitative art. In this case failure is sure 
 to be the result. Theatrical effects are produced by 
 the joint agency of living performers and of scenery; 
 which latter is displayed on a stage of both width and 
 depth, necessarily backed by a landscape or sky painted 
 upon a plane surface ; in fact, by a picture ; it is therefore 
 somewhat of a mixed and ambiguous character. But 
 this ambiguity escapes remark so long as the interest 
 of the audience is engrossed by the action and dialogue. 
 But when the legitimate interest of the drama falls off, 
 vain are the efforts made to elevate stage scenery into 
 a source of real entertainment. Every one must have 
 been struck by the incongruity of the elements of imi- 
 tation brought together in the moving panoramic 
 views, with which, in spite of their costly magnificence, 
 the effect of our pantomimes is frequently chilled. 
 
166 OBSERVATIONS ON 
 
 Again, it is curious to witness the violence with which 
 the elements of stage scenery resist any misapplication 
 of their effectiveness. I recollect once having seen 
 some dwarfs or pygmies make their entry from what 
 was intended to represent their proper dwelling ; but 
 which was a dwelling painted upon the front scene 
 on a proportionally diminutive scale ; and therefore to 
 the spectators bore the appearance of a dwelling of the 
 ordinary size, seen in perspective at a considerable 
 distance ; so that, on their entrance from the practi- 
 cable door in the front grooves, a few steps carried 
 the tiny actors to the very foot-lights, over the seeming 
 space of half a mile, to the confusion of all intelligi- 
 ble effect. Palladio's interesting Teatro Olympico, at 
 Vicenza, exhibits a similar want of judgment in the 
 arrangement of the stage. The building is, to a certain 
 extent, intended to be on the model of an ancient Greek 
 Theatre, and is furnished with immoveable scenery. 
 At the back of the stage, views of two streets are exhi- 
 bited by means of solid wooden painted models of houses, 
 made less and less, and placed bodily one behind the 
 other so as to give the effect of the natural perspective 
 of the streets. And whilst the stage is empty, all is well. 
 But when an actor has to make his entry down one of 
 these vistas, passing in three tragic strides over the ap- 
 parent space of at least three hundred yards, the effect, 
 
IMITATION. 167 
 
 as may be readily anticipated, is peculiarly unhappy. 
 Again, the following 1 is a mistake which shows the 
 impossibility of overstepping- certain limits in stage 
 representations. In London, a year or two ago, in the 
 performance of the Tempest, the opening scene of the 
 storm was thus introduced. It was arranged that during 
 a few seconds before the drawing up of the curtain the 
 cries of the mariners on the stage should be heard ; 
 and with these supposed notes of preparation in the 
 ears of the audience, the curtain rose. This manage- 
 ment was intended, no doubt, greatly to enhance the 
 effect. But it is manifest that the mind of a spectator, 
 before the drawing up of the curtain, even for the mi- 
 nutest portion of subdivided time, cannot possibly con- 
 ceive the play to be begun ; and in consequence, this 
 ingenious device, instead of increasing the interest, 
 had merely the effect of creating the idea of a disturb- 
 ance behind the scenes. 
 
 Quite in point with these remarks is the following 
 anecdote from the Rejected Addresses. " Mr. Whit- 
 bread contended that the actor was like a portrait 
 in a picture, and accordingly placed the green curtain 
 in a gilded frame remote from the foot-lights ; alleging 
 that no performer shall mar the illusion by stepping 
 out of the frame. Dowton was the first actor who, 
 like Manfred's ancestor in the castle of Otranto, took 
 
168 OBSERVATIONS ON 
 
 the liberty of abandoning the canon. * Don't tell me 
 of frames and pictures,' ejaculated the testy Comedian ; 
 • if I can't be heard by the audience in the frame, I'll 
 walk out of it.'" And unquestionably the actor was 
 right. Pictorial effect was no part of his business. 
 The manager was misled by the desire of reducing 
 scenical representations to one constant denomination 
 of extension. His error was the attributing impor- 
 tance to an incongruity which had, certainly, a real 
 existence, but which, on the boards of a theatre, was of 
 no real consequence. 
 
 Tableaux vivans are the converse of paintings. 
 Their object is to make solidity look like surface, and 
 the real living subject stand for its own resemblance. 
 From what has been said above, it is easy to see that, 
 in order to be successful, they must be conducted with 
 care and good taste ; and that any injudicious intro- 
 duction of accessories, confounding them with stage 
 effect, must be fatal to the illusion. I remember wit- 
 nessing a charming effect that took place in a tableau 
 quite accidentally. One of two lovely young women 
 who formed the group, fatigued perhaps by the attitude 
 in which she was standing, unconsciously began to 
 move, as if reanimated, like another Hermione, whilst 
 her eyes lightened up, and a smile played about her 
 features, as she gazed upon her motionless companion, 
 
IMITATION. 169 
 
 as if she were about to address her; and in that instant 
 the curtain was let fall, leaving an impression on the 
 mind more agreeable than any that fancy could have 
 evoked from a bewitching and masterly painting. 
 
 In the Winter's Tale, the spectacle of Hermione as 
 a painted statue is neither barbarous nor absurd in the 
 representation, taken conjointly with the dialogue and 
 arrangement of the scene. It should be also borne 
 in mind that the old English Dramatists are in the 
 habit of using the words picture and statue as conver- 
 tible terms.* In the minds of the audience the injured 
 Hermione yet lives ; and on the stage even Leontes 
 does not seem quite deceived by the artifice, but to be 
 half addressing his words to her ears, and half to those 
 of the surrounding personages. The manner too in 
 which the harshness of the scene is softened down by 
 Leontes referring to Perdita, and thereby constituting 
 her a link of approximation between the Statue and the 
 other characters present on the stage, together with 
 Perdita's reply, is eminently beautiful : 
 
 Leontes. ----- O royal piece, 
 There's magic in thy majesty, which has 
 My evils conjured to remembrance, and 
 From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, 
 Standing like stone with thee ! 
 
 * See Massinger's City Madam, Act v. sc. 3. 
 
170 OBSERVATIONS ON 
 
 Perdita. And give me leave ; 
 
 And do not say 'tis superstition, that 
 I kneel, and then implore her blessing. 
 
 Winter's Tale. Act . v. sc. 3. 
 
 In reading even these few lines we forget the Sta- 
 tue, and see only the wife and mother. 
 
 In pictures of a high and abstract class, the naked 
 female figure is often seen most fancifully adorned with 
 jewellery : and statues, when no deception is intended 
 thereby, may, I think, be allowed to be decorated in a 
 taste which is at first sight false, but which is in truth 
 a shape in which legitimate homage may be conceived 
 to be done to the ideal form embodied in the marble. 
 The golden sandals of the Theseus of the Parthenon 
 may have been ornaments of this description. Thus 
 too, the ears of the Venus de' Medici at Florence are 
 actually bored for earings; so are the ears of the 
 Venus d' Aries at Paris ; again, thus does Ovid repre- 
 sent Pygmalion as caressing and adorning the ivory 
 statue he had made : 
 
 Interea niveum mira feliciter arte 
 
 Sculpsit ebur, formamque dedit, qusi fcemina nasci 
 
 Nulla potest ; operisque sui concepit amorem. 
 
 Virginis est verse fades, quam vivere credas ; 
 
 Et si non obstet reverentia, velle moveri. 
 
 Ars adeo latet arte sua. ------ 
 
IMITATION. 171 
 
 Et modo blanditias adhibet j modo grata puellis 
 Munera fert illi, conchas, teretesque lapillos, 
 Et parvas volucres, et flores mille colorum, 
 Liliaque, pictasque pilas, et ab aibore lapsas 
 Heliadum lachrymas ; ornat quoque vestibus artus ; 
 Dat digitis gemmas ; dat longa monilia collo. 
 Aure leves baccs, redimicula pectore pendent. 
 
 Ov. Met. x. 247-265. 
 
 That very extravagance of admiration were rather, 
 methinks, praiseworthy than otherwise, that would 
 suspend a necklace of pearl about the neck of a fine 
 statue, or crown its head with a garland of the earliest 
 and sweetest violets ; not without a sensation of plea- 
 sure in approaching the verge of incongruity in the 
 very wantonness and pride of a thorough appreciation 
 of the art. But I will not indulge in remarks that 
 may perhaps appear too fanciful. 
 
 Coloured toys, and china figures of men and ani- 
 mals, being conceived and executed in jest rather than 
 in earnest, are, in their proper places, very pleasing. 
 Deception is no part of their intention. 
 
 The absolute necessity that exists for generalization 
 in all matters of imitative art, is well illustrated by the 
 signal failure of the Daguerrotype as a means of tak- 
 ing portraits. In these productions, for chemical rea- 
 sons, the metallic plate is variously affected by images 
 which are necessarily of various intensities, depending 
 
172 OBSERVATIONS ON 
 
 upon the complexion of the sitters; and therefore 
 hardly a case occurs of the process being tried, in 
 which some lines and shadows are not unduly exagge- 
 rated, and others omitted, so that a portion of the 
 truth, but not the whole truth, is conveyed, thereby in 
 many instances quite falsifying the effect. Moreover, 
 our idea of any individual is not formed from the ex- 
 pression of his countenance, or attitude, at any given 
 moment ; but from a general average of all the impres- 
 sions made upon us by his presence at different times ; 
 an effect which a portrait painted in several sittings, 
 which occupy time, may well express, but which the 
 momentary process of the Daguerrotype, except by 
 rare accident, cannot succeed in producing. A machine 
 cannot select, modify, or generalize, and therefore can- 
 not attain to imitation. But copies of pictures and 
 statues, and especially of the latter, made with the 
 Daguerrotype, are by no means amiss. In such copies, 
 though they are instantaneously produced, there is no 
 lack of selection, modification, and generalization ; be- 
 cause these have been severally secured by the labours 
 of the artists who have wrought on the originals. Time 
 has already been expended upon them, and the process 
 of copying them by instantaneous methods comes in 
 with its full effect. 
 
 Similar remarks may be extended to portraits or 
 
IMITATION. 173 
 
 statues of actors in character. I cannot admire the 
 conception of even Harlowe's well-known picture of 
 the Kemble family, whom he has represented as acting 
 the trial scene in Shakspeare's Henry VIII. Contrast 
 with this the fine abstraction effected by Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds in his portrait of Mrs. Siddons, not as Lady 
 Macbeth, or Queen Catharine ; but as the Tragic 
 Muse ; and consequently embodying all her characters 
 at once. 
 
 After all, beset as imitative art is with the imperious 
 dictates of fashion, entangled as it is with its own ra- 
 mifications, still it is naturalness alone that confers on 
 any of its productions effect and value. And the 
 quality of naturalness is not to aim at a cold delinea- 
 tion of reality, but to have the developement of truth 
 for its sole object : and this is good taste : whereas, the 
 practical effect of bad taste is to falsify, by substituting 
 deception for imitation ; not having the faculty of per- 
 ceiving that the required truth consists in the selection, 
 modification, and generalization of the external features 
 of Nature, by which process alone can the mind be 
 rescued from the crude interruptions of circumstance. 
 This is as much as to say that in order to secure na- 
 turalness, Nature must be improved upon ; a principle 
 recognised in the " qua fcemina nasci nulla potest" of 
 the passage cited above, and in the following from 
 Homer ; 
 
174 OBSERVATIONS ON 
 
 tov filv 'A9r)vait] 9rJKtv, Aibg sicyeyavla, 
 fitiZ,ova r eicriSkeiv ical irdcaova' KdB' de Kaptjrog 
 ovXag rJKE KOjiaq, vaKivQLvip avOti 6p,oiag. 
 wc d' ore rig xpvobv Trepixiverat dpyvpcij dvijp 
 iSpig, ov "H^>ai<roe SsSasv ical HaXXdg ' KQr)vq 
 TE%vriv ■jravroirjv, xapievra de tpya TsXe'ui' 
 log dpa ti£ Kark^eve %dptv KS<paXyre (cat wfioig. 
 
 Odyssey, Z. 230, 
 
 The warrior Goddess gives his frame to shine 
 
 With majesty enlarged, and hair divine : 
 
 Back from his hrow a length of hair unfurls ; 
 
 His hyacinthine locks descend in wavy curls. 
 
 As by some artist to whom Vulcan gives 
 
 His skill divine, a breathing statue lives; 
 
 By Pallas taught, he frames the wondrous mould, 
 
 And o'er the silver pours the fusile gold ; 
 
 So Pallas his heroic frame improves 
 
 With heavenly bloom, and like a god he moves. 
 
 Pope's translation. 
 
 And it is yet more pleasingly illustrated in the follow- 
 ing passage from Shakspeare : 
 
 Perdita. Sir, the year growing ancient, — 
 
 Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 
 Of trembling winter, — the fairest flowers o' the season 
 Are our carnations, and streaked gilliflowers, 
 Which some call nature's bastards : of that kind 
 Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not 
 To get slips of them. 
 
 Polixenes. Wherefore, gentle maiden, 
 
 Do you neglect them ? 
 
IMITATION. 175 
 
 Perdita. For I have heard it said, 
 
 There is an art, which in their piedness, vies 
 With great creating nature. 
 
 Polixenes. Say there be ; 
 
 Yet nature is made better by no mean, 
 But nature makes that mean : So, o'er that art, 
 Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art 
 That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry 
 A gentler scion to the wildest stock ; 
 And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
 By bud of nobler race ; this is an art 
 y T hich does mend nature, — change it, rather : but 
 The art itself is nature. 
 
 Winter's Tale. Act iv. sc. 3. 
 
 The conclusion intended to be drawn from the above 
 remarks is, that all imitation addressed to the eye, 
 must, to be pleasing, be informed with a certain spirit 
 of unity of action ; and that the most abstract and 
 perfect is sculpture. Let me conclude with expressing 
 a sincere hope, if in attempting defmiteness in hand- 
 ling this subject, somewhat may have been dictatori- 
 ally spoken, that it will be looked upon with an eye of 
 indulgence ; and the error be attributed to a desire of 
 showing that in taking an impartial view of matters of 
 art, our tastes, at home or abroad, are not independent 
 of our reason and of our affections. 
 
177 
 
 NOTES TO MEMORIALS IN PROSE 
 AND VERSE. 
 
 Note 1. Page 32, Title. 
 The Baptistery at Florence. 
 
 THE Baptistery at Florence is an octagonal build- 
 ing; and in eight compartments near the sum- 
 mit of the interior of the Dome, the mosaic repre- 
 sents celestial Beings, over whom is written in large 
 Gothic characters, (l.)A. Xi. (2.) dominationes. 
 
 (3.) POTESTATES. (4.) ARCHANGELI. (5.) ANGELI. 
 (6.) FRINCIPATUS. (7.) VIRTUTES. (8.) THRONI. 
 
 Note 2. Page 32, line 5. 
 Gates not unworthy Paradise, fyc. 
 
 " E ben debbe essere veramente lodato Lorenzo 
 (Ghiberti) dacche un giorno Michelagnolo Buonaroti, 
 fermatosi a veder questo lavoro, e dimandato quel che 
 gliene paresse, e se queste porte erano belle, rispose, 
 ' elle son tanto belle, ch'elle starebbon bene alle porte 
 del Paradise'" Vasari. 
 
J 78 
 
 NOTES TO MEMORIALS 
 
 Note 3. Page 37, Title. 
 The Portrait of Leopold de' Medici &c. 
 
 The portrait is in the collection of the Pitti Palace ; 
 the bust is in the gallery of the Uffizj. The inscription 
 on the pedestal supporting the bust records the muni- 
 ficence of Leopold in collecting gems and other works 
 of art. 
 
 Note 4. Page 69, Title. 
 
 La Ziza, or the Emir's Palace. 
 
 There are many fine specimens of Moorish archi- 
 tecture in the neighbourhood of Palermo, and of these 
 the most striking is the Ziza. I learn from Smyth's 
 Sicily that an Arabian manuscript at Monreale com- 
 pletely identifies it with the Emir's Palace. 
 
 Note 5. Page 71, line 14. 
 Segestum, thy sole relic rose before us, 
 
 The Temple, however, is not the sole relic of Se- 
 gestum. At some little distance is a lone house at 
 the foot of a hill, on the summit of which are some 
 very interesting and beautiful remains of a Greek 
 theatre ; with further vestiges of antiquity close by. 
 
IN PROSE AND VERSE. 179 
 
 Note 6. Page 77, Motto. 
 
 " Arduus inde Acragas ostentat maxima longe 
 Mania, magnanimum quondam generator equorum." 
 
 The rise of the hill to the town of Girgenti from its 
 port is exceedingly striking. When we were between 
 four and five miles distant from the town, our guide 
 said that it would still take us not much less than two 
 hours to get there. On being asked, why ? he replied, 
 " Perche e forte salita, Sign ore ! " This was a comment 
 on the first line of the above passage from Virgil more 
 lifelike than any of Burmann or Hej'ne. 
 
 Note 7. Page 104, line 8. 
 And at our botes, and look ! on either hand, 
 
 The phosphorescence of the waters of the Mediter- 
 ranean is very remarkable. I saw it night after night 
 during a voyage from Constantinople to Malta and 
 Marseilles, in the autumn of 1841, in even greater 
 beauty than on the present occasion, during weather 
 equally fine. I am inclined to think it is never seen in 
 perfectly still water. I remember in Syracuse harbour, 
 during heavy rain, that the phosphorescence of the 
 water became visible merely through the agitation caused 
 in it by each drop as it fell. It is best seen from a vessel 
 
180 NOTES TO MEMORIALS 
 
 at anchor, with a number of small boats paddling 
 alongside. When out at sea, attracted by the exceed- 
 ing beauty of the phenomenon, we hauled up a bucket 
 of the water, and dashed it about, and found that it 
 was still luminous, and that the hand which was wetted 
 with it was luminous also; but the effect soon went 
 off; as if, after a certain discharge, the property or 
 quality became exhausted. But I have never heard 
 any satisfactory explanation given of these subtle in- 
 fluences, 
 
 " Communicating male and female light; 
 Which two great sexes animate the world." 
 
 PAH. LOST. 
 
 Note 8. Page 106, line 8. 
 / tread the Campo Santo' s hallowed ground, 
 
 I have heard that the soil of the Campo Santo at 
 Pisa, to the depth of several feet, consists of earth 
 that has been transported thither from the Holy Land. 
 
 Note 9. Page 106, line 10. 
 A Bible history speaking to all eyes, 
 
 " Lessons for every heart, a Bible for all eyes." 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
IN PROSE AND VERSE. 181 
 
 Note 10. Page 108, Title. 
 Sonnet. — On the Paintings of Wallis. 
 
 Wallis is now living at Florence, having attained a 
 great age. Two of his pictures, formerly at Rome, 
 are made mention of at length by Madame de Stael, 
 in her work entitled Corinne, liv. viii. chap. 4. He 
 has a son, who also is a distinguished artist at Flo- 
 rence. 
 
 Note 11. Page 147, Title. 
 Le Plan des Dames. 
 
 Le Plan des Dames is passed in the first day's 
 journey of the tour of Mont Blanc, at no great distance 
 from St. Gervais. I have been told that the ladies 
 who there perished were Prussians ; but I have never 
 met with any authentic account of the disaster. 
 
 Note 12. Page 161, line 12. 
 All the vision of England comes back on my soul ! 
 
 " Quanto mi era spiaciuto Parigi al primo aspetto, 
 tanto mi piacque subito e l'lnghilterra, e Londra massi- 
 mamente. Le strade, le osterie, i cavalli, le donne, il 
 ben essere universale, la vita e l'attivita di quel isola, 
 
182 NOTES TO MEMORIALS. 
 
 la pulizia e comodo delle case, benche picciolissime, il 
 non vi trovare pezzenti, un moto perenne di denaro e 
 d'industria, sparso equalmente nelle province che nella 
 capitale, tutte queste doti vere ed uniche di quel for- 
 tunato e libero paese, mi rapirono l'anima a bella 
 prima, e in due altri viaggi, oltre quello ch'io vi ho fatti 
 finora, non ho variato mai piu di parere, troppa essendo 
 la differenza tra l'lnghilterra e tutto il rimanente 
 dell'Europa in queste tante diramazioni della publica 
 felicita, provenienti dal miglior governo. Onde, benche 
 io allora non ne studiassi profondamente la costituzione, 
 madre di tanta prosperity, ne seppi pero abbastanza 
 osservare e valutare gli effetti divini. 
 
 ####### l\ paese mi piacque molto, e l'ar- 
 monia delle cose diverse, tutte concordanti in quell' 
 isola al massimo ben essere di tutti, m' incanto sempre 
 piu fortamente; e fin d'allora mi nascea il desiderio 
 di potervi stare per sempre a dimora ; non che gl'indi- 
 vidui me ne piacessero gran fatto (benche assai piu dei 
 Francesi, perche piu buoni e alia buona) ma il local 
 del paese, i semplici costumi, le belle e modeste donne 
 e donzelle, e sopratutto l'equitativo governo, e la vera 
 liberta che n'e figlia, tutto questo me ne faceva affatto 
 scordare la spiacevolezza del clima, la malinconia che 
 sempre vi ti accerchia, e la rovinosa carezza del vivere." 
 Alfieri — Vita. Cap. VI. 
 
PART II. 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
Miscellaneous! Poems. 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 TO you, my Children, I inscribe these lays, 
 With pen unfaltering : not as one that claims 
 The privilege of shining as a point 
 Of light amongst the constellated quires 
 Fixed in the sky of British poesy ; 
 But glowing rather like a household lamp 
 With ready purpose in a peaceful home : 
 Albeit with something of a holy flame, 
 By natural objects kindled and sustained, 
 By you, hereafter, to be nursed and fed, 
 When I no more am with you, yet retain 
 A place within your filial memories, 
 As teacher and as playmate of your minds. 
 For we have conned together serious lore, 
 And childish fable, mine of sportive truths : 
 And when in wood and field we three have walked, 
 
186 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 How have I loved your blithe companionship ! 
 
 For to the state of childhood all things pay 
 
 Glad homage ; and the spirits of dance and song, 
 
 Unbidden, ever seem to hover round you, 
 
 Within doors or without, disporting in 
 
 A region of discovery all your own, 
 
 Embellished by your artless similes. 
 
 And, if I do not err, so fairly shows 
 
 The spring-time of your budding intellect, 
 
 Ye both will learn, and at no distant day, 
 
 That to approach the Muse in suppliant guise 
 
 Becomes its own exceeding great reward, 
 
 A blessed consolation in distress. 
 
 Yet must the pearls of fantasy be strung 
 
 Upon the central thread of holiness ; 
 
 With brotherly love enduring to the end : 
 
 So shall ye find an adequate support 
 
 Through evil and through good. Beloved twain, 
 
 Accept a Father's offering : take with this 
 
 Whate'er a Father's blessing may bestow. 
 
 184£ 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 187 
 
 PROLUSIO. 
 
 I N a gray pony of Norwegian race, 
 Propped by his parent's all-sustaining hand, 
 A fair-haired boy sits lightly as a bird : 
 A graceful fawn, whose dark and lovesome eye 
 Serenely glitters in the morning sun, 
 Is gently pacing at the pony's side, 
 His friend and comrade both in stall and field. 
 Startling this elegant creature, who, in turn, 
 Rebuts and bounds in forwardness and fear, 
 Behold four favourite dogs, of beauty rare ; 
 Their friendly tongues let loose, barking for joy, 
 As round and round impetuously they wheel, 
 Sweeping the quiet dew-drops from the lawn, 
 With their long glossy coats, yet in mid chase 
 Incline obsequious to their master's eye. 
 It is a scene to quicken and inspire 
 A Landseer's hand, addressed to picture forth 
 Some bodily semblance of domestic bliss, 
 To captivate mankind, and fix his fame. 
 Here from the city bring some wearied one 
 Athirst for Nature ; here let him drink deep 
 
188 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Of that celestial rill which flows for all. 
 The very atmosphere of this sweet place 
 Is dedicate to thing's not made with hands, 
 Pregnant with dear result long treasured up 
 With kindliness in memory's holy cell. 
 The ride, the walk, all sports of wood and field, 
 The exhilaration of horse, hound, and gun, 
 In glad succession, as the seasons wheel, 
 Are here partaken ; and when wintry nights 
 Shut in betimes with hurricane and cold, 
 The serious or the lighter page select 
 Delights, by one made vocal for the rest ; 
 To which some ballad of the olden time 
 Succeeds, whose dying fall in fancy's ear 
 Survives, and after mingles with our dreams. 
 
 Here too upon the open hills we read 
 The shepherds' book, the firmament and stars ; 
 Or scan, with fine appliances and means, 
 The lunar hills and vales, one after one, 
 Smit with the solar beams, their break of day ; 
 And parching hollows, and volcanic rocks, 1 
 Unvisited by rain, or cloud, or dew, 
 Outshadowed and defined ; or, further yet, 
 The planets harping to their listening moons ; 
 And, further yet, past measurement of thought, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 189 
 
 The nebulous wonders of Orion's brand ; 2 
 
 And the sweet influence of the Pleiades ; 
 
 And other suns, and some in pairs distinct, 3 
 
 Twin centres haply for attendant globes, 
 
 Wherein created sense, if any be, 
 
 Sees luminaries twain together set, 
 
 Together rise in complicated morn ; 
 
 Or with the other each alternating, 
 
 And with strange night, fill up their grateful round. 
 
 Or visitation of meteoric bands 4 
 
 Like constellations mazed, and maddening on 
 
 Through orbits into intersection crushed ; 
 
 Bewildered fragments of some shattered world. 
 
 Or apparitions of the Boreal morn, 
 
 Veiling the pole with films of shivering flame ; 
 
 Now into liquid lambency dissolved, 
 
 Now parcelling the concave into streams 
 
 With stateliest columns intertwined, suffused 
 
 As with the roseate blush of dawning day. 
 
 Or rainbow, when the summer storm goes by : 
 
 Rainbow, put forth for each beholder, not 
 
 An individual arch ; for Science tells 
 
 How, of ten thousand, each particular eye 
 
 Elaborates the sky-dipped woof of light, 
 
 And weaves one for itself. Born with the birth 
 
 Of laws primeval when the world was young, 
 
190 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And man was none to wonder and adore, 
 
 Thou to " the world's gray Fathers"* gavest a sign, 
 
 And in these latter days i'the cloud art set, 
 
 Fair Bow, type of Faith, Hope, and crowning Love ! 
 
 Whereof as many well-springs overflow, 
 
 As there are hearts of men upright and pure : 
 
 And may no sad exclusion from decay 
 
 Of the inward eye befal us, blotting out 
 
 Tokens of mercy kept alive in thee I 
 
 And 'tis a recreation, not a task, 
 To mark, prophetic of vicissitude, 
 The pearly furrows of the mackerel sky, 
 Ribbed like the sea-sand ploughed with ceaseless tides. 
 Or if the horizon's verge be emerald-tinged, 
 Whilst all the upper sky is flecked and barred, 
 By stubbornly conflicting agencies 
 Wrought upon variously ; streaked, as they say, 
 Into resemblance of the gray mare's tail, 
 By witches or by gamesome fairies ridden. 
 And nightly we interrogate the sky's 
 Own telegraphings, conned and read aright, 
 When o'er the stedfast moon by sudden fits 
 The racking scud drives furiously and fast ; 
 
 * HeDry Vaughan, a.d. 1614 — 1695. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 191 
 
 Vaunt courier of the sullen storm that sleeps 
 In the dark chambers of the dropping south. 
 Or mark the vaporous masses, thunder-ci-ammed, 
 Of shapes fantastical, and gorgeous hues, 
 Pierced by mysterious light through all their folds : 
 'Tis unsubstantial all ; yet peaks arise, 
 Grim forests, cities, and the bowery isles 
 Of glorious Cloudland, as of earth below, 
 Indent with bays, and throned on glistening sea ! 
 
 Such are our themes : or, some divine effect 
 Robing all Ranmore's height in golden fire, 
 By magic intervals of sun and shower : 
 Haply o'ercanopied with liquid blue, 
 What time the year its russet garb puts on 
 At the first warnings of autumnal frost, 
 We note the lazy horizontal mist 
 Spread like a frozen lake o'er Mickleham's vale : 
 Or at the morning meal discuss the gale, 
 That last night, like an iron-embattled host, 
 And multitudinous in wrath and power, 
 Rushed from the west ; far off its coming rang; 
 Then in the three tall ash-trees piped amain, 
 And bellowed forth rude notes unheard before. 
 And once, a rare occasion, we beheld 
 The hills grow dusky, whilst Heaven's blackening vault, 
 
192 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Pillared upon the spiral waterspout, 
 Shook to the anthems of the thunderclap, 
 And every hill was telling of the sound. 
 
 But when the evening' air is all becalmed, 
 And blue smoke wreathed o'er Bramble-haugh revi 
 The charcoal-burner's peaceful bivouac ; 
 And the young Moon is shedding down her light 
 On the black fir-trees fringing Coxhead ridge ; 
 A delicate ear at intervals may catch 
 A pent-up rushing noise from Betchworth mill, 
 Or clang of rolling wheels, or horseman's tramp, 
 Or the low thunder of the railway train, 
 Wakening the solemn key-note of the hill ; 
 Or merry notes of rural minstrelsy 
 Commingled, and disjointed, borne from far 
 On tremulous wings of fluctuating airs ; 
 With mystic influence, hard to be described ; 
 Delusive hauntings of the listening ear. 
 More near, the curlew's wildly pleasing cry, 
 The partridge calling to her scattered brood, 
 The wing of homeward rook creaking aloft, 5 
 The wagoner's cheer, and clanking of his team, 
 And cowboy's whistle, each and all proclaim 
 The element unruffled and at peace, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 193 
 
 Yet with harmonious pulses thrilled throughout, 
 That with one spirit inform the closing scene. 
 
 Lady, and thou my brother, ye whose hearts 
 Have feeling, thankfulness, perceptions deep, 
 Proportionate to that which ye enjoy, 
 Well are ye matched ; domesticated here, 
 And linked harmoniously in golden chains, 
 That make sweet music as ye walk along 
 Your path in life, without discordant fears, 
 Long may this cherished spot be blessed, and long 
 May all the grove and all the day be yours. 
 
 1840—1842. 
 
194 MISCELLANEOUS POEM S. 
 
 THE BEE ORCHIS. 
 
 SEE, dearest girl, this image bright ! 
 Why starts my fair one at the sight ? 
 It mounts not on obtrusive wing, 
 Nor threatens thee with angry sting. 
 Admire, as close the insect lies, 
 Its thin-wrought plume, and honeyed thighs, 
 Whilst on this flowret's velvet breast, 
 It seems as though 'twere lulled to rest, 
 Nor might its fairy wings unfold, 
 Enchained in aromatic gold. 
 Think not to set the captive free : 
 'Tis but the picture of a bee. 
 
 Yet wonder not that Nature's power 
 Should paint a bee upon a flower ; 
 And stoop to means that bear in part 
 Resemblance to imperfect art : 
 Nature, who could that form inspire 
 With strength and swiftness, life and fire ; 
 And bid it search each spicy vale 
 Where flowers their fragrant souls exhale ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 195 
 
 And labouring well to store the hive, 
 With murmurs make the wild alive. 
 
 For when in Parian stone we trace 
 Some best-remembered form and face ; 
 Or bid on radiant canvass rise 
 An imitative Paradise ; 
 And feel the warm affections glow 
 Pleased with the pencil's mimic show ; 
 "Pis but obedience to the plan 
 By Nature first proposed to man ; 
 Who, lest her choicest sweets in vain 
 Should blossom for a thankless train ; 
 Lest beauty pass unheeded by 
 Like cloud upon the summer sky ; 
 Lest memory of the brave and just 
 Should sleep with them, consigned to dust ; 
 With leading hand the expedient proves, 
 And paints for us the form she loves. 
 
 1830. 
 
196 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE FAWN. 
 
 THE favourite fawn is gliding to and fro, 
 With all the grace of Rylstone's famous doe, 
 Down the green lane, and through the half-wild glade 
 By over-arching birch and hazel made ; 
 Whose boughs subdue, but shut not out, the ray 
 That chequers with soft light her sides of bay. 
 Her every motion regular and free 
 As liquid lapse of summer waves can be ; 
 Yet slow and stately, as a cloud goes by 
 When only one is in the summer sky ; 
 And now she stands foreshortened, and at rest, 
 A perfect model for some sculptured knightly crest. 
 
 But if her mistress should appear, 
 And in her hand an offering bear 
 Of apple, carrot, bread, or cake, 
 What sudden change that sight will make ! 
 Upright she jumps on all four feet, 
 And hastes with bleating cry to greet 
 The hand that feeds her and caresses, 
 And with fantastic garlands dresses : 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 197 
 
 With eager neck, and nostril wide, 
 
 She begs and snuffs from side to side : 
 
 Where is the staid demeanour now — 
 
 The pace so stately and so slow ? 
 
 Sweet fawn, but thou art lovely still ; 
 
 Come without fear, and eat thy fill : 
 
 I care not, though thy wayward manners prove 
 
 Romance too often ends in cupboard love. 
 
 1 840. 
 
198 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 GOLD FISH. 
 
 " Ij^ISH, fish, are ye in your duty?" 6 
 ■A. Favourites, we see you in your beauty, 
 Flashing there, and flashing here, 
 In this basin cool and clear ; 
 Where an artificial fountain, 
 From a graceful centre mounting, 
 Leaps high above the topmost grade 
 Of a pyramidal cascade. 
 Then seen with hues and forms uncertain, 
 Through the foam-fringed watery curtain 
 That from the ledge of carved stone 
 Falls in a sheet with listless tone, 
 Ye lose the shape of living creatures, 
 And fly asunder, very meteors ; 
 With rainbow atoms tossed and scattered, 
 And diamond spray-dust zephyr-shattered. 
 
 Now by mechanic sleight of hand 
 The jet sinks down at my command. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 199 
 
 Calmed is the bubbling undulation 
 That overflowed the smooth-lipped basin ; 
 Gone is the motion and the noise ; — 
 Now plainly seen, ye glance, or poise, 
 O'ercanopied, if so your will is, 
 By the broad-leafed water-lilies. 
 Or, one by one, no longer sparkling, 
 Ye sink at leisure, downward darkling, 
 And motionless, like jewels, lie 
 With rays half hidden from the eye. 
 
 What though ye have no lofty feelings, 
 No reasoning powers, no bright revealings, 
 Ye may have a plenteous measure 
 Dealt you of instinctive pleasure ; 
 And your fine array of senses 
 May outweigh even man's pretences. 
 Time may not be for you a level 
 Without result of good or evil ; 
 Something akin to fear and hope 
 May comprehend you in its scope ; 
 But since response can never come 
 From being proverbially dumb, 
 Unresolved these points must lie ; 
 But my first brief question I 
 
200 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Will answer undisguisedly. 
 Gorgeous, and yet innocent, 
 Splendour ye with peace have blent 
 I see a moral in your beauty ; 
 Fish, fish, ye are in your duty. 
 
 1843, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 201 
 
 THE PEACOCK. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A CHILD. 
 
 THE peacock is a glorious bird ; 
 And you ma)' safely take my word 
 That homage to him has been done 
 From ancient times down to our own. 
 'Twas feigned that through the ethereal blue 
 The car of Juno peacocks drew. 
 And the bold knight-errant paid his 
 Vows to the peacock and the ladies. 
 And lords and dames of courtly breeding, 
 In days of yore would oft be leading 
 A stately dance they moved so grave in, 
 That from the peacock took its name of Pavin, 
 Nor has the sun e'er look'd upon 
 A finer than our peacock Don. 
 All night, whilst angry winds did roar, 
 He roosted in the sycamore ; 
 And there to leeward or to windward 
 Turn'd his feathers, nothing hindered ; 
 
202 MISCELLANEOUS FOEMS. 
 
 Nay, once I saw the hoar night-frost 
 
 His tail with silver flakes encrust ; 
 
 And with icicles disguise 
 
 The splendour of his hundred eyes. 
 
 Now wide awake, he condescends, 
 
 Forsooth, to own us as his friends; 
 
 And struts before us on the gravel, 
 
 As grand as if returned from foreign travel : 
 
 Or to the light his plumage turns, 
 
 Perched on the sunniest of the terrace urns 
 
 And though he seems to think the morning 
 
 Shines purposely for his adorning, 
 
 Such is his gallant gorgeous trim, 
 
 That all approve of pride in him. 
 
 For by their outward marks of pride 
 
 Are lower creatures dignified ; 
 
 But man is in his noblest dress 
 
 When he is clothed with humbleness. 
 
 1845. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 203 
 
 THE WALK. 
 
 " nr^HE Sun's rim tops the western hill 
 -t And tedded is the hay : 
 Tell me, my lads, the way you walked 
 This glorious summer's day." 
 
 " Down through the Pit-field first we sped, 
 With whoop and merry call ; 
 And through the narrow hunting gate 
 Beneath the wych-elm tall. 
 
 " And turning by the nut-grown lane, 
 We skirted Coxhead hill, 
 Where yet beneath the quickset hedge 
 The dew lay bright and chill. 
 
 " But in the sun the grass was dry, 
 And every blade was rife 
 With low shrill hum, and buzzings strange, 
 The stir of insect life. 
 
204 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " And with the grass all wild flowers grew, 
 
 Of thousand scents and dyes ; 
 
 And round and round in myriads flew 
 
 Blue chalk-hill butterflies. 
 
 " We climbed the path-way on the hill 
 
 With odorous junipers beset; 
 
 There frisked the squirrel, there crept away 
 
 The silent leveret. 
 
 " Then over-head the spruce -firs met, 
 
 And made a sudden calm : 
 
 And on the left a rural song 
 
 Flew upwards from the farm. 
 
 " We heard the stock-dove moan, unheard 
 
 No woodland thing might stir ; 
 
 Our path was grown with moss, and strown 
 
 With sheddings of the fir. 
 
 " Then in the beech-wood's doubtful shade 
 
 We threaded one by one. 
 
 By a half-subdued and mellow light, 
 
 The maze of sheeny stems, upright 
 
 As Gothic pillars carved in stone. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 205 
 
 " Where tangled in green foliage-flakes, 
 The sun beams struggling through, 
 Just faintly flecked the dry dead leaves, 
 Blank wintry residue 
 
 " Of withered things, that ankle-deep 
 Bestrewed the blackening ground, 
 At every step raised in a heap 
 With crisp and juiceless sound. 
 
 " Then by the little lonesome lodge 
 We left the beechen wood ; 
 And gazing over Mickleham's vale, 
 Awhile enraptured stood ; 
 
 " Till William first the silence broke ; 
 
 ' Who's for a steeple-chase ?' he cried : 
 Nor waited for compliance cold, 
 But down the slope like hunter bold, 
 
 Or lapwing fleet of foot he hied. 
 
 " With right good will adown the slope 
 We followed at full speed ; 
 And leaped the low and rugged fence 
 That parts that lovely mead. 
 
206 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " And when to the churchyard we came : 
 There stood, just past the stile, 
 
 The rector at his garden-gate ; 
 With frank approving smile 
 
 Soothly our steps he would have staid ; 
 
 With open heart and tongue he bade 
 Us rest beneath his roof awhile. 
 
 " With courteous gest and speech we past, 
 And through the churchyard ground, 
 With sun and shade alternate cast 
 O'er many a grassy mound 
 
 " About the modest house of prayer, 
 Whose spire both low and small 
 O'ertops not much the ivy bower 
 Upon the Saxon wall. 
 
 " We crossed the highway, took the lane 
 That from the village leads 
 To where the heights of Norbury Park 
 Look down on richer meads ; 
 
 " And alders, by the river Mole, 
 
 And poplars straight and slim are seen, 
 And weeping ash, and every soft 
 Variety of green. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 207 
 
 " Quaint river Mole ! that loth to flow 
 By ordinary rules, 
 Infirm of purpose, breaks and parts 
 In cold disjointed pools, 
 
 " United still through filtering sands, 
 Unseen by human eye, 
 Like gems securely linked to gems, 
 Though by some hidden tie. 
 
 " Awhile we rested here, but soon 
 The highway found again 
 By the foot-bridge, and stiles, and gaps, 
 And long Westhumble lane. 
 
 " Again we paused ; the sun rode high ; 
 Hard seemed it to decide 
 At once to scale the far-famed slope 
 Of Box-hill's chalky side. 
 
 " One spoke at length, ' Take heart of grace,' 
 So said, so done : — right soon we passed 
 The half-way yew trees leaning from 
 The rude south-western blast — 
 
 " Breasted the steep with virgin turf 
 Clad since the hill was young ; 
 
208 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And now the topmost ridge appeared ; 
 We raised a shout —the ridge was cleared — 
 Upright on level ground we sprung. 
 
 " With hats in hand we paused for breath ; 
 
 Whilst o'er our cheeks and hair, 
 With visitation fresh and sweet, 
 For mountaineering roamers meet, 
 
 Ran liquid lapse of healthy air. 
 
 " There woods, and hedgerows, parks, and fields 
 
 Lay smiling at our feet ; 
 And we thought of the song you sang us aloud 
 
 Of Nymphs, and Oreads fleet, 
 As the shadow of many an island cloud 
 
 Flew o'er the waving wheat. 
 
 " We likened oldest things to new, 
 And each with each did vie 
 In scope and penetrating power, 
 And fantasy of eye. 
 
 " Who Shoreham gap ? Who Shankenbury ring ? 
 Who yonder refuse burning? 
 Who Deep-dene stable clock ? or who 
 Sees Ewhurst windmill turning ? 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 209 
 
 " We saw the wild-hawk wheel and wheel 
 Pursued by felon crows, 
 Freebooter of the feathered race 
 Begirt by feathered foes. 
 
 " Far down, there rushed a gateway through, 
 With hurry and affright, 
 A crowded flock of gallant sheep, 
 
 A thousand fleeces bright; 
 And we likened them to a troubled stream, 
 A mill-race foaming white : 
 
 " Then slowly pacing on the road, 
 They raised a dusty cloud, 
 O'er sheep and shepherd hanging low ; 
 A sun-illumined shroud. 
 
 " We turned our eyes towards Dorking spire 
 
 Reared high above the town ; 
 From forth the steeple went a chime 
 
 Upon the south wind blown ; 
 We heard — but nothing recked of time, 
 
 So gaily had he flown. 
 
 " There rose the Danish camp ; beyond, 
 Old Evelyn's sylvan bower ; 
 
210 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And, further yet, the heathery heights 
 By Leith-hill's lonely tower. 
 
 " And from the chalky pinnacle 
 Whereon we took our stand, 
 Save where a purple summer shower 
 Sloped graceful o'er the land, 
 
 " And where the limekiln's milk-white reek 
 Did creepingly appear, 
 The sky was like a sapphire sea, 
 Glassing its own profundity, 
 
 The very sky-line sharp and clear. 
 
 " Then, homeward turned, we took our way 
 Through young-cut oak, and stunted box, 
 And caught a momentary glimpse 
 Of roaming wild cub-fox ; 
 
 " By Birchen-grove, and terraced wild 
 Of stony-hearted Bramble-haugh, 
 And Middle-hill with thorn-brakes set, 
 And fern-grown Bullen-shaw. 
 
 " The peewit cried, the partridge called 
 Her half-fledged scattered brood ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 211 
 
 The curlew on the reverberant hill 
 Halloed out her summons shrill ; 
 
 Loud crew the pheasant in the wood : 
 
 " But nearing now the orchard homestead, 
 Never a word we spoke, 
 Foredone with sport ; but soon as we 
 Above the mossy apple-tree 
 
 Beheld the chimney smoke, 
 A gentle sigh of silent glee 
 From every bosom broke." 
 
 " Thanks for your tale; and now, good-night ! 
 Enough for all of work and play : 
 Alike the evil and the joy 
 Suffice unto the day. 
 
 " But I must keep the word I gave — 
 To-morrow afternoon, 
 If not a breeze disturb the trees, 
 We'll fly the fire-balloon." 
 
212 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE SUN-DIAL. 
 
 WHILST with your dear love, and your 
 flowers, 
 Luxuriously you linger, 
 Turn once to view the creeping hours 
 Tracked by my shadowy finger. 
 
 But if in idleness you pore 
 
 Till day-light runs to waste, 
 Take heed, impute not to each hour 
 
 The blame of over haste. 
 
 I own no regulating force 
 
 Of pendulum or springs ; 
 The glorious sun's diurnal course 
 
 Inspires my chroniclings. 
 
 Though gayer dials may go true, 
 
 And be accounted treasures ; 
 Put faith in me, ye happy two, 
 
 Whose days are spent in pleasures ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 213 
 
 Whose love, in its undying prime, 
 Is furthest from repining ; 
 
 For I take constant note of time 
 Where the sun is ever shining. 
 
 1839. 
 
214 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 BETCHWORTH AVENUE — I. 
 
 B ETCH WORTH ! thy stately avenue is fraught 
 With imagery of some saintly pile, 
 Whose long-drawn perspective of nave and aisle 
 From architecture such as thine was caught. 
 O'erhead thy roof is branched, as though by rule ; 
 Here voices sink to whispers of amaze, 
 And footsteps fall with reverence ; the deep cool 
 Startles the senses in these sultry days. 
 And lo, one sunbeam ! which the half-shut eye 
 Untwines to hairs and threads of fibrous light 
 Of nameless colours, than which none more bright 
 Through painted oriels stream : around, on high, 
 This hum of bees — how like the organ's tone 
 Reverberate from cathedral stems of stone ! 
 
 1842. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 215 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 BETCHWORTH AVENUE II. 
 
 HOW the wild winter's desecrating powers 
 Have marred thy saintly features ! sight nor 
 sound 
 Of summer months remains, above, around, 
 To tempt the Muse to linger here for hours. 
 By many an eddying whirl-blast downward shook, 
 Dead leaves, and twigs, and plumes of native rook, 
 In homeward musterings dropped at close of day, 
 By wandering hoofs are crushed, and trod in clay. 
 Brown horror o'er the whole will soon be flung ; 
 And the mysterious owl on pinions gray 
 Down the long vista sails, a winged face ; 
 And now, reposing in her wonted place, 
 Shouts from the tod of matted ivy spray, 
 Above yon bank with darkling laurels hung. 
 
 1842. 
 
216 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 SONNET— RECOVERY. 
 December 1839. 
 
 LADY, the friends who annually meet 
 Under thy much loved roof, together greet 
 Thee, chained no longer to a weary bed, 
 With anxious pain confused, and throbbing head, 
 But risen to joy and health. Sad thoughts, farewell ! 
 Welcome all thoughts drawn freshening from the Well 
 Of Life, now in the time in which the Son 
 Of God our frail mortality put on, 
 In great humility to seek and save 
 Lost humankind, and triumph o'er the grave. 
 Thanks, gracious Power, that dost our dwellings cheer 
 With health of mind and body, peace and love, 
 Albeit fierce storms dai'ken the skies above 
 In this wild season of the closing year ! 
 
 1839. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 217 
 
 THE SHORTEST DAY. 
 
 EARLY sloping to its place of refuge see the solar 
 car; 
 
 Coasting like a vessel guided by some fearful mariner. 
 
 The eaves, that dripped in noontide sun-thaw, at the 
 chill approach of night 
 
 Are hung with many a bead, and jagged with many 
 an icy stalactite. 
 
 Now a star, and now another ; now a constellated 
 braid 
 
 Peeps out ; and now the firmament with golden patines 
 is inlaid, 
 
 From Aldebaran peering o'er the horizon with his 
 golden eye, 
 
 To the Bear, and Cassiopeia, in the circumpolar sky. 
 
 'Tis time to quit the frost-bound fields, and garden 
 desolate with snow, 
 
 For the shelter of our roof-tree, for the cheerful fire- 
 side glow ; 
 
 For the hearth domestic, centre of all blithesome re- 
 creation ; 
 
 Yet at solemn Epochs consecrate to loftier meditation. 
 
218 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Winter now has ebbed its lowest, furthest from 
 
 all golden prime ; 
 Nature motionless lies stranded on the banks and 
 
 shoals of Time. 
 And the forked and broken branches tossing to the 
 
 raving sky, 
 Are distressful signals with a lamentation waved on 
 
 high. 
 But far off assurance beacons, clad in raiment of the 
 
 Bow 
 That from the region of the rain-cloud smiles upon the 
 
 earth below : 
 Assurance, tarrying for the day-spring without fever 
 
 or amaze ; 
 Like the Sphinx Egyptian, calm in indefatigable gaze ; 
 Though in solstitial feebleness the sun along the 
 
 ecliptic steals, 
 She shall mark the acceleration of his burning chariot 
 
 wheels ; 
 She shall sit beneath her vine-tree when the purple 
 
 harvest reels. 
 As the wind, that bloweth where it listeth, stirs the 
 
 stagnant ocean, 
 So the afflux of the seasons vibrates with a gathering 
 
 motion. 
 Sense refined for things eternal hears the low yet 
 
 awful sound 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 219 
 
 Of a voice that chides the pausing of the emblematic 
 
 round. 
 Days on days, as waves on waves, shall follow, till 
 
 elate we see 
 Nature on the tide of summer floating in her bravery. 
 
 But the summer's perfumed breeze with chartered 
 wantonness is fraught : — 
 
 Now with Winter harmonizes staid sobriety of thought. 
 
 Thought, the furthest from despondence that would 
 think to read aright 
 
 The symbol of man's fortunes in this brief and melan- 
 choly light, 
 
 That the shortest Day forecloses ; thought, that 
 sets at nought the praise, 
 
 The wealth, the power, the fame, the credit, to be 
 gleaned in golden days, 
 
 Cleaving to the independent inward riches of a soul, 
 
 Vested with the garb of honour won by genuine self- 
 controul. 
 
 1842. 
 
220 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE OLD YEAR, 
 
 ' r T^IS midnight, yet the clear church bells 
 
 -*- In measured strains are pealing : 
 I hear their chime as it gently swells, 
 
 O'er hill and valley stealing. 
 And now 'tis hushed, and now once more 
 Sound-laden blasts with a gathering roar 
 
 The ravished ear with music fill — ■ 
 Sweep by — and leave the sense behind — 
 And sinking with the sinking wind, 
 
 Pause — fade — and all is still. 
 
 The old year is dead ! — the best of years ! 
 
 He lies upon his bier ! 
 Your tones, ye pensive monitors, 
 
 Yet linger in mine ear. 
 From high to low your voices range, 
 With moody elements of change ; 
 
 And ye tell in the close of your dying fall 
 Of hopes and enterprises fair, 
 Like vacant sounds dispersed in air : 
 
 For the world lies under a pall : 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 221 
 
 And many there are who never more 
 
 Your melody shall hear ; 
 Nor see the lengthening days restore 
 
 A beauteous blithe new year. 
 And I heard in your peal a deep-toned bell 
 That to-morrow may sullenly swing my knell, 
 
 And bid my comrades cease their mirth, 
 And loosen the knots of their festival bowers, 
 And scatter the sweet exotic flowers 
 
 Over the new-raised earth. 
 
 Yet let the crowd of winged years 
 
 Pass on, away, away ! 
 The still small voice within declares 
 
 How vain were their delay ; 
 And harmonising to the breast 
 Foretells the promised place of rest, 
 
 With recompense for worldly woe ; 
 Where cold decay shall never come, 
 But new-born spring for ever bloom, 
 
 And years eternal flow. 
 
 1826. 
 
222 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 SKATING. 
 
 WHEN to his feet the Skater binds his wings, 
 As of Jove's messenger the poet sings, 
 He, like the hare, outstrips the northern wind, 
 And casts, in doubling, a keen glance behind. 
 By art that to the frozen lake conveys 
 A glowing interest in winter days, 
 Before the gazer now he seems to fly ; 
 Now with a backward stroke deludes the eye ; 
 Precipitating curves on curves anew, 
 Returning ever, to his centre true. 
 With air of noble ease, and swan-like grace, 
 He balances awhile in narrow space ; 
 Then sweeps far round with power not shown before, 
 And on his crystal plain does all but soar. 
 Yet is his pastime brief ; the solar heat 
 Grows strong ; again the lapsing waters meet, 
 And to dull plodding earth confine his daring feet. 
 
 1843. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 223 
 
 SKETCH OF A WINTER SCENE. 
 February 26, 1843. 
 
 THE snow fell all night long like thistle-down, 
 Undriven by any wind : the snake-wreathed urns 
 Upon the terrace were sublimed with snow ; 
 The lawn lay blank and dazzling ; and throughout 
 The bleak bare length of the antique ash-trees' arms 
 Smooth strips of snow in lines refulgent ran, 
 With the dark russet bark in contrast viewed, 
 Showing like bands of light glancing along 
 The limbs of mail- clad warriors : yews, and firs, 
 Though changed in hue, retained a show of grief, 
 And bowed beneath the sluggish wintry mass, 
 Low feathering downwards, like the cold white plumes 
 Upon a maiden's hearse who died for love. 
 The holly's fenceful leaves and scarlet fruit 
 Were lost beneath the clustering spheres of snow : 
 The oak put on a foliage new and strange 
 That with the play and fashion of its boughs 
 Harmoniously accorded ; and the birch 
 Drooped as in summer, but in light festoons 
 
224 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Of silver, worn for graceful masquerade : 
 
 Such varied metamorphose, unforeseen, 
 
 Relieved the dim confusion of the woods. 
 
 I feared the rising of a breath of air' 
 
 That might have marred the picture ; in my heart 
 
 I chid the red-breast, who from spray to spray 
 
 Hopping, a tiny avalanche shook down, 
 
 That broke the charm where all was fairy-land. 
 
 1843. 
 
MISCELI.ANEOUS POEMS. 225 
 
 THE SNOWDROP, 
 
 IN the green quickset alley found, 
 Cautious I peep above the ground. 
 A tranquil, soft, and silvery grace 
 Illuminates my downcast face ; 
 Like that of some secluded maid 
 Of manhood's liberal gaze afraid. 
 
 Yet though my bashful head hangs low, 
 No blush o'erspreads my sickly brow; 
 For I am pale, and weak, and mild, 
 Bald gray-beard Winter's latest child ; 
 And rightly doth my chilling name 
 My parentage and birth proclaim. 
 
 But see ! my sire away has flown, 
 
 And Spring adopts me for her own ; 
 
 Gives me her joyous train to lead, 
 
 Where flowers on flowers in turn succeed ; 
 
 And Nature's voice begins the song, 
 
 Which grateful hearts through six fair months prolong. 
 
 1832. 
 
226 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 SCENE IN THE COUNTY OF WICKLOW. 
 
 A SKETCH. 
 
 ORDERING the mountainous and wild way-side 
 That leads to Glendalough, and Kevin's bed, 
 Renowned in song and legendary lore, 
 I saw a fragment huge of stubborn rock, 
 And hard by stood a cabin : each of each 
 Appeared at first the very counterpart ; 
 Alike in outline, magnitude, and hue ; 
 Twin offsprings of th' inhospitable soil. 
 The rock lay sullen in its ruggedness, 
 Cold as a pinnacle of northern ice ; 
 Massive, obtuse, and fostering nought of life, 
 Save lichens, barely classed with living things, 
 Yet by their hues redeemed from nothingness. 
 But the low cabin stood on cherished ground : 
 The stir of life was there ; and we beheld 
 The azure peat-smoke curling silently 
 From what served as a chimney ; on our ears 
 Light footsteps fell, with voices not a few, 
 That told of amity, domestic cares, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 227 
 
 And all the tender charities of home. 
 
 And even that mass of rock, whose presence seemed 
 
 Too coldly savage for companionship, 
 
 Yields no unwelcome service, casting shade 
 
 Profoundly grateful to the wearied one 
 
 Returning from the peat-bog or the field, 
 
 To taste repose, and bless the hour of noon, 
 
 That by its shadow-line is rudely marked : 
 
 Oft in the winter checks the driving storm ; 
 
 And by the reflex of the sun brings down 
 
 Some genial comfort from the frosty air, 
 
 To charm the rigours of that desert place, 
 
 And breathe around tranquillity and joy. 
 
 1839. 
 
228 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 WORTHING. 
 
 A SKETCH. 
 
 NOT when the winter's wild south-western hlast 
 Scatters thy spray-flakes, furious, loud, and fast, 
 But when thy surf with slow and solemn swell 
 Booms on the ear, I love thee, Ocean, well. 
 'Tis sweet to lie fanned by thy healthful breeze, 
 Stretched on the shore in meditative ease, 
 Whilst influences tremble through the frame, 
 Felt inwardly, but which we cannot name. 
 And sweet to share with those we love the best, 
 Old recreations in new colours dressed ; 
 With rhymes and tales that to the seas belong, 
 Of Proteus' wreathed horn, or mermaid's fabled song. 
 
 Here children on the sands, or pebbly beach, 
 In very sport learn more than books can teach. 
 The smooth-worn shingle, and the buoyant weed, 
 Please with moist gleam, and temptingly succeed. 
 Some pause aloof, to watch with timorous glee 
 The magic swelling of the moon-led sea ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 229 
 
 Some bolder stand, unmoved, in act to brave 
 The flowing march of each advancing wave ; 
 Then follow, when its landward plunge is o'er, 
 Its backward swing, that sweeps and rattles down the 
 shore. 
 
 But when low tide reveals the ocean-bed, 
 A level space of firm brown sand is spread, 
 With wave-like ripple-mark ribbed far and wide, 
 Ploughed by the ceaseless current of the tide, 
 From where the shingles whiten in the sun, 
 And the swart lines of sweltering sea-weed run, 
 To where mid-way between the earth and sky 
 The steaming mirage mocks the clearest eye. 
 One vessel in the offing rides afloat ; 
 Black, without motion, lies the fisher's boat ; 
 And through the throng of sauntering idlers gay 
 The dripping shrimper threads his homeward way. 
 
 1839. 
 
230 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 ON THE TERRACE AT SOMERSET 
 HOUSE. 
 
 A NIGHT-PIECE. 
 
 THE fair round moon sheds down her dewy light 
 Upon this noble terrace, and reveals 
 The long perspective of the balustrades 
 With light and shade alternating ; o'erhead 
 The sky is frosty, and Orion slants 
 Athwart the level haze ; an eager air 
 Comes freshening from the bosom of the Thames ; 
 Against the granite wall the quick spring-tide 
 Laps audibly, as though on living crags ; 
 A barge that seems self-moved — a dusky shape — 
 Glides onward, like a dream ; but with the dash 
 Of the heavy plunging oar, that breaks the moon's 
 Calm image to ten thousand luminous waves, 
 And eddies, and bright points, I see her form 
 From stem to stern ; the dark hull swims in light. 
 Another soon will follow, for I hear 
 The capstan's clink, and voice of one that weighs 
 His anchor to old snatches of a song. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 231 
 
 Yon bridge — those wondrous rows of pendent lamps — 
 
 With the reflex beneath, recalls the dear 
 
 And half-forgotten scenes of fairy-lore 
 
 I conned in childhood ; — the strange symphony 
 
 Of striking clocks, now near, and now far off, 
 
 Now near again, is merged and whelmed at length 
 
 In solemn globes of sound flung one by one 
 
 From sovereign Paul's clock tower ; — the trumpet sounds 
 
 From the far-barrack at this hour of night 
 
 With notes of peace and rest ; — from yon tall mill, 
 
 Looming through river vapours spectrally, 
 
 The engine throbs at lengthening intervals ; 
 
 And all the cataract of human life, 
 
 Maddening erewhile with fevered dissonance, 
 
 Subdued to distant murmurings, breathes repose. 
 
 And, as in revelations of a dream, 
 
 I see a harmony pervading things 
 
 Inanimate, and things that tell of life, 
 
 With spirit pre-eminent o'er the manifold din 
 
 That in the giddy whirl and glare of day 
 
 The fair proportions of this imagery 
 
 Deforms with harshness out of tune with love. 
 
 1843. 
 
232 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 OLD MASTER NASH OF WINDRUSH. 
 
 A VILLAGE PORTRAIT. 
 
 A SHEPHERD for eighty long summers and 
 winters, 
 He followed his trade, without stirring adventures, 
 On the ridge of the wild windy Cotswold, alone 
 With his dog, and his flock, and the gray walls of 
 stone. 
 
 Overburden' d with well-nigh a century's weight, 
 Marvel not that he stoops, that he totters in gait ; 
 But old age holds his senses so little in thrall, 
 You would scarce think him acting the last scene of 
 all. 
 
 Snow-white is his hair, and the hues of his cheek 
 Long acquaintance with rain, dews, and sunshine, be- 
 speak ; 
 Still, though now for a crutch he abandons his crook, 
 He's at yeaning-time called to advise and o'erlook. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 233 
 
 And when merry May-time is kissing with June, 
 At the feast of sheep-shearing he loves to make one ; 
 Where the bleating, and mirth, and the clapping of 
 
 shears, 
 Like the sweetest of music resounds in his ears. 
 
 And when Whitsuntide comes with a morrising mea- 
 sure, 
 
 To the bells, pipe, and tabor, his heart leaps with 
 pleasure ; 
 
 A brief sparkle relumed of his manhood's gay fires 
 
 Stirs his limbs, as though shot through electrical 
 
 He cannot be idle : sometimes with his neighbours 
 He fares forth, like a child, to promiscuous labours ; 
 But for all he can do, though he rallies his powers, 
 He might just as well sit in the sun for three hours. 
 
 The poor of the village in turn may repair 
 
 To the house of the Vicar, his bounty to share ; 
 
 But old Nash comes and goes when he lists ; it were 
 
 sorrow 
 And shame to put off the old man with "to-morrow," 
 
234 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 May he peacefully breathe his last breath ! He shall 
 
 sleep 
 Where the fresh grassy hillocks he couching like 
 
 sheep, 
 And the south wind that woos the wild flowers of the 
 
 spring 
 Comes with early perfume and repose on its wing. 
 
 1843. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 235 
 
 ASTHALL, OXFORDSHIRE. 
 
 A SKETCH. 
 
 IN early summer, when the meadow grass 
 Was ripening, and no one that way might pass, 
 By lanes and open pastures I drew nigh 
 Unto a village that aslope did lie 
 Upon the north-side of a vale : below, 
 Through water-meads I saw the Windrush flow. 
 Beyond, where'er the undulating wolds 
 Uprose to meet the sky, the distant folds 
 Were gemmed with fleeces. Thence I turned my 
 
 horse 
 Down a rough road— half road, half watercourse — 
 Towards a spacious farm, with gables quaint, 
 And here and there a Gothic ornament, 
 Tinted with lichens and soft weather-stains ; 
 Of some monastic pile the sole remains. 
 And all about the homestead, red and white 
 Thorns, blossoming in masses, glistened bright ; 
 And cones of chestnut-flower in bold relief 
 Displayed against the fans of dark green leaf; 
 
236 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And underneath, the kine, with twinkling tails, 
 Lashing the viewless flies, waited the evening milking 
 pails. 8 
 
 Alighting at the church, I took my way 
 
 Through the encincture where the gravestones lay 
 
 Unshadowed in the cheering eye of day, 
 
 To where the sacred doors of carven wood 
 
 Beneath the Saxon porch wide open stood. 
 
 My feet one moment on the threshold hung ; 
 
 Then on the pavement and sepulchral brasses rung, 
 
 As down the aisle, in mood subdued, I went 
 
 Slowly from monument to monument. 
 
 The circulating air flowed cool and free : 
 
 And o'er the solitude a melody 
 
 Stole from a tomb within a gilded rail, 
 
 Whereon a warrior lay in complete mail, 
 
 Sculptured in stone, for on that form supine 
 
 A redbreast perched, and trilled a note divine. 
 
 Even such was Asthall. I can ne'er forget 
 
 The quiet of a scene I quitted with regret. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 237 
 
 SONNET.— ON THE PAINTINGS OF 
 TURNER. 
 
 GREAT Poet of the pencil! Thou wert born 
 With power to see into the soul of things ; 
 And dowered with an intellectual scorn 
 Of slavish detail. For imaginings 
 Sublimed from Nature thanks are due to thee : 
 By thy creations thou hast set us free 
 To scale the heights of unattempted art. 
 The tones that to the mind thou dost impart 
 Are silent never. They respond by night 
 In still pulsation to the slumbering light ; 
 Then vibrate to the colourings of the mist, 
 When morning is instructing sky and land 
 And ocean ; and the breadth of gleaming sand 
 Is glassing dream-like shores, with level day-spring 
 kissed. 
 
 1843 
 
238 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE WORLD BEFORE MAN. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Extreme Antiquity of the Earth asserted — Consequences of 
 Central Heat — A Belt of Clouds formed round the Globe — 
 Changed to a Ring of Ice — The Ring broken up — Conse- 
 quent Effect upon the Earth's Surface — Contest between Heat 
 and Cold continued — Consequent Effects upon the Earth's 
 Surface — Creation of Organic Life — Various Changes down 
 to the Creation of Man. 
 
 WHEN earth was newly moulded into form, 
 And the dread void was filled, and darkness lay 
 No longer on the surface of the deep, 
 There was a wondrous time ere Time began 
 To measure out the dole of human life 
 By minims of succession : Years were none 
 That with the seasons' circling round expired, 
 Born to scant heritage of petty change, 
 And brief dominion o'er crude circumstance : 
 But as an ocean stream the cycles flowed, 
 Unbroken, unconfined ; and the large Days 
 Were told by lapse of myriad centuries. 
 From the Beginning all may not be traced 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 239 
 
 By less than Angel ; part is yet unsealed 
 
 By reason and experience, fountains twain 
 
 That rise for man, and Mend their streams in one ; 
 
 Part by up-thundering earthquakes brought to light ; 
 
 And part revealed beneath the earth and sea, 
 
 In murky shades of caverns many-tongued, , 
 
 To those who to a nether world go down, 
 
 And occupy their business in the mine, 
 
 Or in the sounding quarry shape the stone. 
 
 Earth, big with elements and principles, 
 
 At first, as now, upon her axle rolled 
 
 With pace innocuous, changeless, uniform. 
 
 Yet, ere divided by the firmament 
 
 The waters from the waters stood distinct, 
 
 The universal canopy of air, 
 
 By operation fierce of central heat, 
 
 Grew seething vapour ; seas and lakes were none ; 
 
 All elemental liquid was dispersed 
 
 To upper regions, interfused with air 
 
 Expanded in insufferable range 
 
 To realms that lie betwixt the earth and moon, 
 
 Where of contending forces none prevails, 
 
 Fast by the confines of the realms of cold. 
 
 Hence condensation moist, and hence the globe 
 
 Became encinctured by a belt of clouds, 
 
240 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Compact at length to a belt of gleaming ice, 
 
 A ring opaque, self-balanced, wonderful, 
 
 Fixed in the concave by petrific cold ; 
 
 A frigid zone material, unlike that 
 
 By sage geometricians since described 
 
 In parcelling out the imaginary sphere. 
 
 But heat in due procession rising slow, 
 
 With purpose of reprisal to be wreaked 
 
 Upon the antagonist principle, by stealth 
 
 Attained the limits of the frost-bound air ; 
 
 Thawing insidiously the gleaming ring's 
 
 Continuous encincture : all at once 
 
 By gravitating pulse resistless drawn, 
 
 Yet slowly first, the hideous ruin fell. 
 
 Then swift and swifter whirling, clashed, and rung, 
 
 And shivered in the middle firmament, 
 
 With fulminations of dire impact, shot 
 
 From masses self-attracted, self-repelled, 
 
 Even 'midst the acceleration of their fall, 
 
 Whose speed outstripped their own outrageous clang. 
 
 Deep shadowing thus they came : not as we see 
 
 Sharp-pointed sleet, or comminuted hail, 
 
 Cast forth like morsels on the wintry plain ; 
 
 But glaciers — ice-bergs — aerolites of ice — 
 
 Like continents and mountains, capes and isles, 
 
 Down-thundering erst in arch-angelic war, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 241 
 
 Encountered the scared earth, that, furnace-like, 
 With fiery emanation hissed and glowed ; 
 And all the surface in commotion rose 
 Torn by the fresh-engendered hurricane- 
 Of vaporous explosion, with a noise 
 Of the icy concrete, into atoms dashed, 
 Flashing to steam, then re-absorbed in air : 
 Yet earth, as now, upon her axle rolled, 
 With pace innocuous, changeless, uniform. 
 
 Still battling for the mastery, searching cold 
 Of his old sceptre strove to dispossess 
 The fiery element, and subvert his reign ; 
 Nor failed at length ; for weakened and o'erwrought 
 By undulations lost in boundless space, 
 Heat fled the superficial plain of earth, 
 To the volcano's narrow bounds confined ; 
 The petty fortress left him to defend. 
 Then too, the sphere of air was circumscribed, 
 And rendered up its watery particles 
 Conglobed in drops on high ; thence downward drawn 
 To cool the surface with impetuous rain, 
 Condensed and roaring into cataracts 
 For ages from the watery shell of air : 
 Hollowing out ocean beds, and craggy shores, 
 By which no heart of buoyant mariner 
 
 R 
 
242 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 E'er shaped a course, or hoisted gladdening sail ; 
 And scooping valleys desolate and lone ; 
 And wearing rocks to columns and to peaks, 
 Whilst all the bounding echoes were absorbed 
 And deadened in the granite-shattering whirl 
 And strife of waterspouts, that ceaseless raved 
 On oldest mountain-ranges, older far 
 Than Himalayas, Alps, or Apennines, 
 For these as yet were not ; — primeval hills, 
 Disconsolate, disastrous, unredeemed 
 By softening landscape, sight or sound of joy : 
 Yet earth, as now, upon her axle rolled, 
 With pace innocuous, changeless, uniform. 
 
 Pass we to happier times, when breath of life 
 Organic, breath of herb, tree, fruit, and flower, 
 After their kind that quicken, and inspire 
 Odours and savours to the laughing air, 
 Gladdened the teeming garden of the world : 
 And creeping things first made, then nobler kinds, 
 Each after each, endowed with nerve and brain, 
 Volition's seat, with frames for strength and speed, 
 In sport exerted, or for needful prey, 
 Started to life in forest, mere, or fen, 
 When this fair world was green, and all their own. 
 Peaceful the starry heavens rose and set ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 243 
 
 Peaceful the level main ; peaceful the air ; 
 And by the lustrous woods and groves festooned 
 With flowering trailers serpentine, and palms 
 Outspread in tropic shape, and sapphire lakes 
 Diversified with light, and interchange 
 Of noonday twilight amongst bowery hills, 
 Haply celestial beings walked the earth, 
 With pinions folded down in lowliness, 
 And all this glare abated, not without 
 Serene delight, although their home was heaven ; 
 And held high converse of this beauteous world, 
 And how mankind thereafter should succeed 
 To such possession. 
 
 Then came forth the law, 
 That paints the rainbow on the pendent cloud, 
 Though meditative soul were none to admit 
 Through outward portals of the ready sense 
 Intelligential thoughts of love and praise. 
 Then on the level slime and oozy shore 
 Of the interminable and sluggish fen, 
 In coverts of gigantic ferns, and reeds 
 Like spears of serried hosts in phalanx dense 
 Embattled, and portentous sedge, whose growth 
 Out-topped the stature of our forest kings, 
 The Saurian lay, dark, rugged, motionless, 
 
244 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Ensheathed in swarthy plates of obscene mail ; 
 
 Enormous birth : as sedulous of prey, 
 
 This way and that, before him and behind, 
 
 Rolling his huge circumference of eye, 
 
 That, by reflection, to the solar orb 
 
 Responded with unutterable fire ; 
 
 Yet quailed and sickened with the sickening sun, 
 
 What time the eclipse, with darkly strange defect, 
 
 Strode from the equator to earth's outward edge, 
 
 In majesty of darkness unforetold. 
 
 And florid earth upon her axle rolled 
 
 With pace innocuous, changeless, uniform, 
 
 For ages upon ages ; race to race 
 
 Succeeding, clime to clime, nay, land to land, 
 
 By subsidence and deposition slow 
 
 Wrought by invisible powers in land and sea. 
 
 And there were earthquakes, fires, and lava streams, 
 
 And signs above, and voices on the deep, 
 
 And mountains rose afresh, and valleys fell, 
 
 And sun and moon and stars together sang, 
 
 And life was o'er the whole pre-eminent, 
 
 And God saw it was good ; and God said, now 
 
 Let us in our own image fashion man. 
 
 1842. 
 
-MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 245 
 
 THE RAILWAY TRAIN. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Lo it comes, 
 A dragon or chimaera of romance ! 
 " With shriek like mandrakes torn out of the earth ; " 
 In just articulation, joint •with joint 
 Compact, with seeming sense, and purposed will, 
 And vital marrow of intelligence : 
 With whirlwind march, on iron-engrooved paths, 
 A very thing of life, it works and plies 
 Its office : now by day a cloud it shoots 
 Forth from its nostrils, steaming as with breath 
 Of life, descried far off; and so devours 
 Its proper continuity of road, 
 Reversing the direction of the winds 
 In very prodigality of speed 
 Towards its rock-entunnelled darkling lair : 
 And launched upon its way in night profound, 
 By its tremendous neezings shines a light, 
 With images of peril, wrath, and power ; 
 As when some spirit of evil rashly freed, 
 
246 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Shakes the magician who dared frame the spell ; 
 Happy, so might he scape the demon's ire, 
 To break his wand, and all his books of art 
 Entomb for ever I 
 
 1842. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 247 
 
 THE BLIND GIRL. 
 
 SISTER, I have oft suspected 
 To idle grief thou dost incline ; 
 Now by the throb thou art detected 
 Of thy fingers pressed to mine. 
 
 I a stranger am to weeping ; 
 
 How should I thy peace annoy ? 
 Evermore, awake or sleeping, 
 
 Flows the current of my joy. 
 
 I love the air by humming fountains 
 Fanned and freshened, and the charms 
 
 Of sunshine sweetening heathery mountains, 
 And breath of upland dairy farms : 
 
 And whilst youths and maids are telling 
 Of fields in gorgeous wild-flowers dressed, 
 
 By a sense sublime of smelling 
 
 I know the fields the Lord hath blessed. 
 
248 MISCELLANEOUS TOEMS. 
 
 Once in our porch whilst I was resting 
 To hear the rain-drops in their mirth, 
 
 You said you saw the rainbow cresting 
 The heavens with colour, based on earth : 
 
 And I believe it fills the showers 
 With music ; and when sweeter air 
 
 Than common breathes from briar-rose bowers, 
 I think the rainbow has touched there. 
 
 I hear the winds rise up to battle ; 
 
 Or in the hill-side larches sing ; 
 Or in the merry ash-key's rattle ; 
 
 Or in rough oaks low murmuring. 
 
 And in that hour of deepest feeling, 
 Which you call twilight, comes a sound 
 
 Of dread yet lovely beings wheeling 
 About the firmament profound ; 
 
 About the constellations, rolling 
 
 All night to quiet melodies, 
 Hushed by the morning sun's controlling, 
 
 Lost in his fuller harmonies. 
 
 I hear of beauteous forms and faces, 
 
 Sparkling eyes, and glossy hair ; 
 And my touch unerring traces 
 
 Mind and spirit dwelling there. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 249 
 
 And thankful for the inventor's cunning, 
 The page embossed with learning's fruit, 
 
 O'er which my fingers will be running, 
 As o'er an harpsichord or lute, 
 
 I glide through tales of warlike ages, 
 And follow high poetic rhymes, 
 
 And magic lore of bearded sages, 
 And lighter gems of modern times. 
 
 Or inly pondering gospel tidings, 
 I learn from our Redeemer's lot 
 
 How light in darkness was residing, 
 But the darkness knew it not. 
 
 Sister, I make no vain pretences 
 Weighing thus my gifts with thine ; 
 
 For I have, as thou hast, senses 
 
 To comprehend that word — to shine I 
 
 A day shall dawn, a day of brightness, 
 Such the glorious words of grace, 
 
 When we alike in robes of whiteness 
 Shall see our Maker face to face. 
 
 1842. 
 
250 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 ON A SCENE IN HUNGARY. 
 Buda, July 31, 1841. 
 
 WOULD'ST thou survey a scene as bright 
 As may on earth be found, 
 Ascend the Blocksberg's craggy height, 
 By star-eyed Science crowned.* 
 
 Thence with enraptured eye skim o'er 
 
 The immeasurable plain, 
 Teeming for Hungary's lords with store 
 
 Of flocks, and herds, and grain. 
 
 Then, turning towards the breezy west, 
 
 Refresh the wearied sight 
 With vine-clad slopes, and wilder hills, 
 
 Enrobed in summer light. 
 
 * The observatory of Buda is erected on the summit of the 
 Blocksberjc. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 251 
 
 Below, white walls, and glittering spires 
 
 Buda, and Pesth are seen, 
 And Danube in unbroken flow 
 
 Rolls deep and wide between ; 
 
 But, when the haunts of men are passed, 
 
 Puts forth on either hand 
 Two mighty arms, to compass round 
 
 And water all the land. 
 
 And northwards by those floating mills, 
 
 Two islands, side by side, 
 With greenest thickets wooded o'er, 
 
 Lie stemming Danube's tide, 
 
 That runs in narrowed course between — 
 
 Then, swift as thought can fly, 
 I dream of woods and meadows green 
 
 On Thames's banks that lie. 
 
 Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade ! 
 
 Ah, fields beloved in vain ! 
 Where once my careless childhood strayed, 
 
 A stranger yet to pain. 1 * 
 
 * From Gray's Ode on a distant Prospect of Eton College. 
 
252 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Return, return, inconstant thoughts ; 
 
 What tricks doth memory play ! 
 Forbear to mingle scenes like these 
 
 With others far away. 
 
 Nature I still where'er I roam, 
 
 Thee, Goddess, I revere ; 
 Then let me dwell on scenes of home, 
 
 Less mighty, yet more dear. 
 
 He thy best worshipper shall prove 
 Who feels it pleasing pain, 
 
 By leagues of earth and sea removed, 
 To drag the lengthening chain. 
 
 1841. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 253 
 
 THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 
 
 HARK I what sound mine ear doth mock ? 
 'Tis the merry cuckoo clock, 
 Chiming like the very bird 
 In earliest days of summer heard, 
 With her two notes reiterated ; 
 Lonely bird — a voice unmated. 
 
 When the huge cathedral bell 
 Flings its undulating knell 
 From a central heart of sound, 
 To circle all the city round, 
 Where the shadowy watchmen creep 
 By the houses lapped in sleep ; 
 Knell that flies o'er palace towers, 
 And penetrates to inmost bowers, 
 And leaves within the haunted ear 
 Of lonely fireside listener 
 Something of fantastic fear 
 With its iron stern vibration ; 
 Cuckoo-clock, the salutation 
 
254 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Of thy admonitory ditty 
 Soothes me in the pent-up city, 
 With thine own peculiar greeting ; 
 And thus the hours, for ever fleeting, 
 Are onward cheated and beguiled 
 To die in music of the wild. 
 
 Cuckoo-clock, thy rural summons 
 
 Calls me to heathery thorn-grown commons, 
 
 Hazel-brakes, and beechen groves, 
 
 Where thy feathered namesake roves ; 
 
 And bids me summer scenes remember 
 
 In the month of drear December. 
 
 And when fierce dreams upon the bed 
 
 Of pain and sickness rack the head, 
 
 Since thy clear note is ever telling 
 
 Of sunshine, and of life outwelling, 
 
 There is no distressful warning 
 
 In thy alarum, but a dawning 
 
 And a promise of renewal 
 
 Of healthful power, life's dearest jewel. 
 
 And O ! what charms thy tuneful shock, 
 All unconscious cuckoo-clock, 
 Had for that child of sweetest features, 
 A seraph now with seraph creatures. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 255 
 
 How often would she pause and stay 
 
 In the midst of all her play, 
 
 At the very noontide hour, 
 
 Held by thy spell of pleasing power, 
 
 With eager eyes, and lips apart, 
 
 Answering to her fluttering heart, 
 
 That did within her bosom knock ; 
 
 Unmoved the while as marble block, 
 
 She gazed upon thee, cuckoo clock, 
 
 Like a votary come from far 
 
 For response oracular, 
 
 Till with sudden click and jar 
 
 Thy mysterious doors should sunder 
 
 With a sight and sound of wonder. 
 
 Were the curious craftsman near, 
 
 German, or stout Hollander, 
 
 Who wrought thy wheels, and bade thee tell 
 
 Each hour with voice instead of bell, 
 
 A mile or twain he would be running 
 
 To see such triumph of his cunning. 
 
 How oft temptation's sorest trials 
 Environ those enchanting dials, 
 That even the soberest hearts entrammel, 
 With gold enchased, and flowered enamel : 
 But thy wooden aspect homely, 
 
256 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 In unison with all that's comely, 
 Speaks of regulated duty 
 By a charm surpassing beauty. 
 Of vocal mechanism the sweetest, 
 Thanks for the lesson thou repeatest ; 
 Thanks for the never-failing stock 
 Of feelings that thou dost unlock, 
 Merry, voiceful cuckoo-clock. 
 
 1842. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 257 
 
 ON USING AN ETRUSCAN VASE AS 
 A DRINKING CUP. 
 
 TALK not to me of funeral rites, of dismal tombs 
 of earth ; 
 This form, these colours bright, declare this cup was 
 
 made for mirth. 
 A health to all ! to living friends I pledge this goblet's 
 
 flow ; 
 And next, to those who smiled and wept three thousand 
 
 years ago 
 
 This relic brings their joys and griefs to mingle with 
 
 our own, 
 Though fabling time for centuries on centuries has flown : 
 I seem to see their marriage feasts, the bridegroom and 
 
 the maid ; 
 And new in earth with his crown of gold the warrior 
 
 grandly laid. 
 
 How ! laid in earth ? aye, laid in earth : what thoughts 
 can here affright ? 
 
 s 
 
258 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 See ! though 'tis frail and wrought of earth, this cup 
 
 is passing light : 
 And hence I feel and know that he dreams nought but 
 
 dreams of bliss, 
 Who lies asleep with earth upon his breast as light as this. 
 
 I cast aside the historic page to listen to the voice 
 
 That by this cup bids human-kind in brotherhood re- 
 joice : 
 
 Then fill once more ! to living friends I pledge this gob- 
 let's flow ; 
 
 And next to friends who lived and died three thousand 
 years ago ! 
 
 1843. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 259 
 
 TO SIR JOHN F. W. HERSCHEL, K.H. 
 
 ON HIS RETURN FROM THE CAPE 
 OF GOOD HOPE, 1838. 
 
 " Praesenti tibi maturos largimur honores." — Horace. 
 
 HERSCHEL, of zealous father zealous son, 7 
 Receive the crown thine ardent toil hath won ! 
 See, England's wisest, pressing to the shore, 
 Descend in crowds to welcome thee once more ; 
 Climb the tall deck that bore thee safe to land, 
 And clasp in ecstasy thy friendly hand, 
 With heartfelt welcome both to thee and thine ; 
 Loved ones who cheered thee on the cheerless brine. 
 
 When first thy vessel winged her eager way 
 Athwart the Line of equal night and day, 
 Taught southward her unerring course to shape, 
 And seek no haven but the wave-worn Cape ; 
 Though 'twas a joy to catch the gallant breeze 
 That whitened o'er the crest of foreign seas, 
 With glowing sense of change from hour to hour, 
 
260 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 As clime succeeded clime with varied power, 
 
 And ocean told of wondrous living things, 
 
 And air responded to the sea-bird's wings, 
 
 "With sights and sounds that stir each feeling breast; 
 
 Flashed there no joy on thee above the rest ? 
 
 As from th' horizon's still descending plane 
 
 Star after star rose o'er the heaving main, 
 
 Revealing in the ever-changing skies 
 
 One after one their glorious novelties — 
 
 Not with amazement, but with rapture, fraught, 
 
 Fresh to thy gaze, familiar to thy thought — 
 
 Till the South Pole stood high in pomp untold, 
 
 And a new firmament around thee rolled. 
 
 'Tis done : in either hemisphere thy name 
 
 Is read in characters of deathless fame ; 
 
 But happier they the wondrous tale that hear 
 
 From thine own lips, illustrative and clear. 
 
 Now shall they welcome thee who most incline 
 
 To talk with zeal and intellect like thine ; 
 
 They who, thy much-loved Granta's bowers among, 
 
 Mingle stern reasoning with the muse's song ; 
 
 The kindred souls, that watched and drank with p-lee 
 
 The scanty tidings sent across the sea. 
 
 Bear them awhile to realms of space remote, 
 
 Where myriad worlds in ambient ether float, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 261 
 
 Celestial husbandman ! who, night by night, 
 Didst garner up the golden grains of light, 
 In fields then first disclosed to mortal eye, 
 Rich with the harvest of an unknown sky. 
 Thy bright discourse of treasured lore prolong, 
 Thyself the centre of the listening throng ; 
 On truths sublime the graceful charm bestow 
 Of winning eloquence in fullest flow. 
 
 Born to the contemplation of the sky, 
 Nursed in the arms of sweet philosophy, 
 Better thy spirit in its calling strove 
 For this, that thou hadst much therein to love : 
 And memory of thy Sire, whose precepts mild 
 Led thee to star-eyed Science when a child — 
 Thy Sire, who borne on wisdom's searching wing 
 " Found for the lyre of Heaven another string" — * 
 Led thee in reverence on and onward still : 
 Bade thee for him the mighty task fulfil. 
 No fond and vain ambition here we see : 
 Science is filial piety in thee ! 
 
 Yes ; there are laurels wreathed for him alone 
 Whose mind from truths eternal takes its tone. 
 
 * Campbell. 
 
262 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And when with genius in one blaze combined, 
 Pure social worth, love, charity, we find, 
 Man creeps no more the being of an hour ; 
 With honour crowned, than angels little lower. 
 
 1838. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 263 
 
 ON THE DEPARTURE OF BISHOP SEL- 
 WYN FOR NEW ZEALAND. 
 
 December, 1841. 
 
 ON England's shores the Tomatin unfurled 
 Her sails to waft her o'er one half the world : 
 And with a troop of friends upon the strand, 
 Of whom some wept, appeared a parting band 
 Called hence for earth's remotest isles to steer, 
 And shape in utmost Zealand their career. 
 And raised above the multitude was one 
 Towards whom all turned as towards a central sun ; 
 A youthful head erect in mitred state ; 
 And with a dignity inviolate, 
 Mixed with a look of sweet accord, he drew 
 Such reverence as to age alone seemed due. 
 For holiest thoughts were legible in his face, 
 With quiet ornament of genuine grace. 
 Even in that hour he wore a cheerful guise ; 
 And on his lofty brow, and in his eyes, 
 Lightened a soul of resolute emprise ; 
 And whilst affectionate farewells he spoke, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " He bore his great commission in his look."* 
 The prayer was said — the benediction given — 
 In the full canvas sat the wind of Heaven ; 
 The deck receded — still upon his tongue 
 The loved and honoured name of Eton hung ; 
 So forth they fared upon the pathless sea, 
 A goodly fellowship — a glorious company. 
 
 Devoted spirit ! we cannot choose but take 
 Shame to ourselves, for thy privations' sake, 
 Whilst soft civilization showers around 
 Our homes all luxuries of sight and sound. 
 Whence admiration of endurance takes 
 Soft melting hues ; nay, pity's self awakes, 
 Roused at the call of friendship, that began 
 In school-boy days, and now binds man to man. 
 Yes ! we will seek with thee that distant shore ; 
 And though with bodily eye we see thy face no more, 
 Such is our love, in vain shall ocean roll 
 His bars between, to sever soul from soul. 
 
 What hope was thine when dashed the rainbow 
 spray, 
 A cheering emblem through the tedious day, 
 
 * DrydeN) Character of a Good Parson, from Chaucer. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 265 
 
 Over thy vessel's prow, and far away 
 
 She held her lengthened course, unvexed by storms 
 
 That call up terror in a thousand forms ! 
 
 Month after month the measureless ocean-wild 
 
 Mirrored the azure firmament, that smiled 
 
 With sunlit influences upon the deep, 
 
 And lulled the tempest in unwonted sleep ; 
 
 Till in the very haven where thou would'st be, 
 
 Omen of happiest futurity, 
 
 Earth, sea, sun, air, all gave the favouring sign, 
 
 Here breathes a spirit of man no other than divine ; 
 
 And ere thou might'st address thy future flock 
 
 Of cinctured islanders, each barren rock, 
 
 And distant bowery hill, and glistening cove, 
 
 Was hailed by thee with joy akin to heavenly love. 
 
 And whilst the militant Church in open sight 
 Of men arrays her panoply for fight, 
 Once and again with ringing warrior tones 
 And with a mighty stirring of dry bones, 
 And voices louder waxing, trumpet-pealed 
 With no uncertain sound on God's own battle-field, 
 Remarshalling the broken, scattered, lost, 
 Confederation of her ancient host, 
 Intent offending Christians to rebuke — 
 Towards Zealand she inclines with sweet inviting look. 
 
266 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And in thy sacred function a serene 
 
 Example of endurance shall be seen, 
 
 That the highway before Her shall prepare, 
 
 Sweet-minded Prelate ! Thou, true messenger 
 
 Of peace, shalt raise the Savage of the wild, 
 
 And gently draw him : lordly, yet a child, 
 
 He loves thy pastoral care, and precepts nobly mild. 
 
 Thus quickening with vitality intense, 
 The germ of national pre-eminence, 
 Watered by true religion, shall take root, 
 And bear for unborn ages richest fruit. 
 Then shall a fair ingenuous race explore 
 The darkling mines of intellectual lore ; 
 And eager-hearted industry give birth 
 To the respondent claims of social worth. 
 The prairie and the fern-grown waste shall teem 
 With culture, there the golden harvest gleam ; 
 And commerce from untold resources spring ; 
 And vessels shoreward crowd " on wheel or wing." * 
 And kindling to the genius of the clime, 
 Shall polished arts succeed, and high-built rhyme 
 From native imagery shall take its tone, 
 And hallow mighty deeds of warriors done 
 
 * Campbell. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 267 
 
 In chivalrous feats of arms, not barbarous war ; 
 So shall thy Zealand shine the leading star 
 Fixed in the galaxy of lustrous isles 
 That o'er the one half world of waters smiles. 
 
 And measured by thine aim, that seeks the skies, 
 Thereafter shall a temple-dome arise, 
 Of vast proportions just, yet intricate, 
 Of symmetry befitting Christian state ; 
 Elaborate with gold, with marble bright, 
 From tessellated floor to fretted height ; 
 Where the discriminating eye shall trace 
 Fresh combinations, and new forms of grace, 
 Caught from the o'er-arching woodland colonnades, 
 And pendent scenery of those savage glades, 
 From Nature's own soft architecture won 
 To live by native art transferred to stone. 
 And in that temple shall glad crowds attend, 
 And to the light revealed in reverence bend ; 
 Whilst to reverberating vocal choirs, 
 And breath of organ-pipes, the anthem lends its fires. 
 
 And though to see thy Zealand in her prime 
 May not be given, yet, triumphing o'er time, 
 One solace is behind, if those that feed 
 By faith upon the future solace need. 
 
268 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Within these sacred precincts shall be shewn 
 A venerable monumental stone, 
 Whereon posterity shall read thy name 
 Inscribed, and consecrate to deathless fame. 
 Even now each pensive and o'erflowing heart 
 That bears, or fain would bear, with thee its part 
 To speed the progress of the glorious doom 
 Foreshadowed in a kingdom yet to come, 
 With those of sainted men thy name enrolls, 
 Shepherd and Bishop of converted souls. 
 
 1843. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 269 
 
 ON REVISITING ETON, 
 
 IN THE YEAR 1842. 
 
 THESE the spires and these the turrets sons of 
 Eton love to greet : 
 See beneath the row of lime-trees that low wall, our 
 
 wonted seat. 
 See those benches ; on the oaken wainscot graven see 
 
 that name ; 
 See the thronging generation — 'tis another and the 
 
 same — 
 Beneath those elm-trees in the meadows musical with 
 
 happy sounds 
 Of unbroken boyish spirits gambolling in ceaseless 
 
 rounds : 
 And by the gallant river eddying onward, ever bright 
 
 and deep, 
 I seem to know the weeds and rushes, and the willow's 
 
 graceful sweep. 
 And I see the self-same elm-tree under which in by- 
 gone years 
 
270 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Me my parents left, a timid novice, drowned in parting 
 
 tears. 
 Once more I greet its whispering branches : nay, the 
 
 very clouds that fly 
 O'erhead away, like youthful days, seem moulded in a 
 
 well-known sky. 
 Comrades in youth's bygone season ! comrades in the 
 
 cheerful glade ! 
 May I show what fearful tracks the wheels of circum- 
 stance have made ? 
 And hand in hand how time and space have sworn to 
 
 sever you and me ; 
 And thrown between congenial souls a thousand 
 
 leagues of barren sea ? 
 Further, further, in the distance, Eton, waned thy 
 
 hoary towers ; 
 Yet I clung to thy remembrance — rallied all my spirit's 
 
 powers — 
 For the ties that held me to thee, worn and frayed 
 
 with worldly strife, 
 Might have snapt but for new blessings calling me to 
 
 second life. 
 Then waxed thy vision, Eton, in the distance, and I 
 
 heard a voice 
 Calling sweetly to a father boasting of his radiant 
 
 boys. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 271 
 
 Now 'tis comfort to address thee, Spirit of that 
 
 ancient Place ; 
 Thee, the soul of England's glory, of her sage and 
 
 warrior race. 
 Spirit, now arrayed in whiteness, now with shadows 
 
 overcast, 
 Come with precept for the future, with rebukings for 
 
 the past. 
 Since thy Henry ruled in Britain, year by year, and 
 
 day by day, 
 Have the gates of thy renewing been impervious to 
 
 Decay. 
 Thou outwellest, like thy river s stream, unperishingly 
 
 rife 
 With youth's blithe elements of motion, and invulner- 
 able life. 
 By the dignity of friendship — by the chastenings of the 
 
 mind — 
 By communications lofty — all that elevates mankind — 
 Let me love thee like a parent — flee to thee and be at 
 
 rest — 
 To thy water-brooks betake me like the hart by hunters 
 
 pressed. 
 
 1842. 
 
272 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 "EN'S hearts have their May-days, and harvest- 
 homes ; 
 
 But in the winter season of the spirits 
 Small obstacles that stand i' the sun of fortune, 
 Cast longest shadows. 
 
 1845. 
 
 THE VINE TO THE HE-GOAT. 
 
 FROM THE ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 THOUGH you gnaw me to the root, 9 
 He-goat, I again shall shoot, 
 Bearing rich and hallowed fruit, 
 
 To make the wine that shall be shed 
 In libation o'er thy head, 
 Victim at the altar's foot. 
 
 1843. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 273 
 
 FROM THEOCRITUS. 
 
 ONE day as roguish Cupid from 
 A hive was stealing honey-comb, 
 A bee, disturbed in his abode, 
 Sharply stung the pilfering god. 
 Cupid shrieked in baby fashion — 
 
 Sorely wept — and blew his fingers — 
 Stamped on the ground in pretty passion : 
 
 Near the hive no more he lingers, 
 But flies away, and shews his grief 
 To Venus. O 'twas past belief 
 That little monster of a bee 
 Could cause such horrid agony ! 
 
 Venus, his sorrows to beguile, 
 As he sat sobbing on her knee, 
 
 Said to him, with a rosy smile, 
 
 " You are yourself just like the bee- 
 
 Have you forgot the thousand smarts 
 
 You wreak on mortals with your darts ? 
 
 The tiny insect stings, 'tis true ; 
 
 And such another monster you ! " 
 
 184& 
 
274 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 FROM MARTIAL. 
 Lib. V. 20. 
 
 COULD we but live, my dearest brother, 
 For ourselves and one another, 
 Disposers of our proper leisure, 
 In blameless holiday and pleasure, 
 We ne'er would haunt the great man's levee, 
 Nor law-courts soured with pleadings heavy, 
 Content in quiet to reside, 
 Far from the imaginings of pride. 
 For literary friends and talk — 
 Light exercise in shady walk — 
 At proper times in proper places 
 The gladiators and the races — 
 The bath— the stroll by Virgo's source — 
 Would satisfy our tastes of course : 
 Such would our haunts be, such our neighbours, 
 Such our extemporary labours. 
 
 Now, whilst we live for those alone 
 Who love us not, the day is gone ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 275 
 
 The day that never can return : 
 
 O be life then our dear concern, 
 
 Nor let us to the Sun impute 
 
 The blame of haste, whilst we dispute. 
 
 Who, blest with means, and in the way 
 
 Of sweetening life, would brook delay ? 
 
 1842. 
 
276 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 FROM TASSO. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO THE AMINTA. 
 
 {Enter Love habited as a shepherd.) 
 
 Love. 
 
 WHO could divine that in this human shape, 
 Veiled in these shepherd's weeds, a God lay hid ? 
 No wood-god, or inferior rural power, 
 But the most potent of the Gods above ; 
 Who can the red right hand of Mars disarm, 
 And from the grasp of Neptune shake the trident, 
 And quench the thunderbolts of Jove himself. 
 Certes, in this disguise not readily 
 Could Venus recognise her offspring Love. 
 For from my mother am I fain to fly 
 To hiding-places. She would make, forsooth, 
 A slave of Love, to do her bidding only, 
 Nor let me loose my shafts but when she lists I 
 She would confine me within kingly courts 
 To aim at crowns and sceptres — bid me trust 
 To lesser loves, my humbler ministers, 
 The care of waging war, in woods and groves, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 277 
 
 On churlish breasts : but I, in truth, no child, 
 
 Though child I seem in countenance and in deeds, 
 
 Am master of myself, and my own actions. 
 
 To me did fate allot, not to my mother, 
 
 The torch omnipotent, and golden bow. 
 
 But though I mock at her authority, 
 
 Who can resist a suppliant mother's prayers ? 
 
 Wherefore I fly and hide myself, and shoot, 
 
 In secret woods, and obscure villages, 
 
 At rustic hearts. Then comes she after me, 
 
 And those whom I have wounded lures aside 
 
 With promises, if they will yield me up, 
 
 Of kisses sweet, or something sweeter far. 
 
 As though I could not promise in revenge, 
 
 Or kisses sweet, or something sweeter far. 
 
 I will aver that kisses such as mine 
 
 Would please, far better please, the damsels, or 
 
 I, who am Love myself, know nought of love. 
 
 They will not yield me up, and keep their counsel ; 
 
 And that is why she hunts for me in vain. 
 
 But there are certain countermarks by which 
 I might be known : these have I laid aside — 
 My purple wings, my quiver, and my bow. 
 Yet think not that I stand unarmed before you. 
 This seeming rod of hazel is my torch, 
 
278 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And breathes invisible flames : this homely spear, 
 
 Albeit not tipped with gold, is yet a weapon 
 
 Of heavenly temper, and inflicts like wounds. 
 
 'Tis my intent to-day to pierce the bosom 
 
 Of the most cruel and disdainful nymph 
 
 That follows in Diana's train ; nor shall 
 
 The wound of Sylvia (for the mountain maid 
 
 Is Sylvia called) be medicable : 'twas 
 
 With an immedicable wound I erst 
 
 Aminta's shepherd heart did cleave in twain, 
 
 What time he followed Sylvia up and down, 
 
 Afield, or in the dance, or in the chase. 
 
 And that my magic weapon may go deep, 
 
 I bide my time till pity shall have thawed 
 
 The ice that maidenly reserve and pride 
 
 Have fenced her heart withal ; and when I see 
 
 'Tis at the softest, will I strike the blow ; 
 
 And with deliberation will essay 
 
 So fair a deed ; and lightly will go hence, 
 
 And mingle with the shepherds hereabouts 
 
 Assembled, garlanded with earliest flowers, 
 
 In their accustomed place of annual sport, 
 
 As though I were of them ; for from this spot, 
 
 And from no other, will I deal the hurt, 
 
 Invisible to mortals. Yes ! to-day 
 
 These woods shall hear discourse of love in terms 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 279 
 
 Unheard before : it shall be manifest 
 
 'Twas my Divinity, myself in person, 
 
 That sped the work, and not my ministers. 
 
 I will inspire high thoughts in rustic bosoms ; 
 
 And sweet sounds shall distil from rustic tongues ; 
 
 For love is love with shepherds as with heroes. 
 
 All inequalities of place or state 
 
 I level at my pleasure : 'tis the boast 
 
 And the great wonder of my supreme power 
 
 To make resound divinely as the lyre 
 
 The pipe of oaten straw : and if my mother, 
 
 Who loves not I should thus demean myself, 
 
 For so she thinks it, comprehends not this, 
 
 Then is it Venus who is blind, not Love, 
 
 Whom men by calling blind grow blind themselves. 
 
 1844. 
 
280 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 FROM TASSO.— LOVE MISSING. 
 
 Venus. 
 
 I WHO reign in Heaven above, 
 Seek my child, my truant Love, 
 On earth below. Dear mortals, say 
 Where is my darling runaway ? 
 It was only yesterday 
 He pricked me with a golden dart 
 About the region of my heart, 
 As on my knees he sate at play ; 
 On purpose or by accident ; 
 Then mounted he on golden pinions, 
 And fled away from my dominions, 
 As though to fly from punishment. 
 
 could I learn his whereabouts, 
 And conclude my fears and doubts, 
 All my anger I would smother : 
 
 1 am his forgiving mother, 
 Who would essay by every art 
 To win him back : for every part 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 281 
 
 Of my own sphere have I searched through ; 
 All the celestial bodies too ; 
 Those that are fixed, and those that move ; 
 But in no courts of heaven above 
 Can Venus find her boy, her erring Love. 
 Mortals ! you best can show Love's favourite hidings : 
 Restore him to my arms — come near with grateful 
 tidings ! 
 
 Surely, surely, ladies fair, 
 Love with you is fain to dwell : 
 In your dimples and your hair 
 He nestles, and like summer air 
 Plays about your bosom's swell. 
 But no, forsooth ! ye would not entertain 
 The fugitive : your hearts are hardened with disdain. 
 
 But there are men of frank and gallant hearts, 
 To whom Love hastes, nor lightly thence departs. 
 To these I turn in my despair — 
 Where is my child, O tell me, where ? 
 He who tells me where Love is, 
 Earns the guerdon of a kiss 
 Of all celestial sweets compounded : 
 But he that brings Love back again, 
 A richer guerdon shall obtain, 
 On consummate blisses founded. 
 
282 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 This by the dreadful Styx I swear ! 
 
 Where is my child, O tell me, where ? 
 
 Has no one seen him ? — None replies. 
 
 Then I trow in some disguise 
 
 He is domiciled among you : 
 
 Surely he folds up his wings, 
 
 And away his quiver flings, 
 
 And all the shafts that lately stung you. 
 
 Though from their smart he would reprieve you, 
 
 Beware ! yet listen : I will give you 
 
 Signs by which the dullest eye 
 
 May recognise him easily. 
 
 Love that plays at hide and seek, 
 Though old indeed in years and cunning, 
 Now as a very child is weak ; 
 Now as a very child is running 
 Wild in many a wild excursion, 
 With no object save diversion. 
 To share his sport is loss and danger ; 
 Tis now good-humoured, now in anger : 
 And his laughter's silvery tinkling, 
 As 'twere in an eyelid's twinkling, 
 Turns to sobs of desolation : 
 His hair is curled in golden fashion : 
 And, as Fortune is portrayed, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Clustering forelocks grace his head ; 
 
 But forelocks alone he wears ; 
 
 All behind he closely shears ; 
 
 This you will find some luckless day, 
 
 When Love is hurt, and turns his face away. 
 
 Love displays with tints of fire 
 The complexion of desire. 
 Gleam his eyes with animation 
 Of sidelong insinuation. 
 O, what wicked eyes are they ! 
 Steal all you can, they seem to say. 
 His babbling talk is sweet as song 
 As 'twere new milk upon his tongue ; 
 And his treble pipe is strong ; 
 And a thousand sparkling graces 
 With his prate he interlaces. 
 And his rosebud lips dissever 
 With the pretty fond pretendings 
 Of mantling smiles upon them ever, 
 To cover frauds, and pert offendings : 
 And oft with roguish courtesy, 
 And aspect of humility, 
 In a wandering pilgrim's guise 
 He a forlorn petition plies 
 For a place to lay his head : 
 
284 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 But when his suit has fairly sped, 
 And he has housed himself within, 
 He his frolics doth begin. 
 Step by step his will and pleasure 
 Grows to license without measure. 
 He, forsooth, the keys must keep 
 Of all your hearts ; his verdict sweep 
 Old dwellers thence, and all their traces ; 
 And set new lodgers in their places. 
 He lays down new laws ; 'tis treason 
 To think to combat them by reason. 
 And Love, who first was but a guest, 
 Thus becomes a household pest ; 
 And persecutes, and sacrifices, 
 All who oppose his quaint devices. 
 
 Now to requite these plain foreshowings 
 Of Love's features, thoughts, and doings, 
 Be you, I pray, in turn confiding : 
 Say, if you can, where Love is hiding. 
 Ah ! would you then my child conceal 
 From me ? I caution you reveal 
 Your knowledge of him, frankly wholly : 
 What, hide young love ? 'tis madness — folly ! 
 He impt-isonment defies ; 
 By the tongue, the pulse, the eyes — 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 285 
 
 A thousand loop-holes — out he flies. 
 Be advised in time, or you 
 Shall your contumacy rue. 
 One in false compassion may 
 A serpent in his bosom cherish ; 
 But flings it forth in light of day, 
 Rather than by its venom perish ! 
 
 Love then sojourns not here ? I find him not ; 
 I must search out on earth some happier spot ; 
 Or reascend to heaven, mourning my hopeless lot ! 
 
 1844. 
 
238 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 AN INCIDENT IN A SCULPTURE 
 GALLERY. 
 
 AS once within a stately hall 
 Of sculpture musingly I wandered, 
 Where shapes of Grecian mould, and all 
 Sweet lines of gracefulness I pondered ; 
 
 Flitting through window or through door, 
 
 A butterfly on pinions airy 
 Came thither from her sunny bower, 
 
 Like visitor from realms of fairy. 
 
 And who a feeling might repress 
 
 Of wonder new and strange at seeing 
 
 'Mongst things so still and colourless 
 That animated gorgeous being ? 
 
 Nay, more ; with instinct free from doubt, 
 And unfeigned love, already plighted, 
 
 Her other self she singled out, 
 
 And upon Psyche's statue lighted. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 287 
 
 Let those, who will, contract their brows, 
 And put their own interpretation, 
 
 With barren saws of whys and hows, 
 On that poetic visitation. 
 
 'Twere best with self-collected mind 
 To banish every crude conjecture, 
 
 And take the moral that we find, 
 
 Though but an insect read the lecture. 
 
 Mark thou the symbols and the grades 
 By which soul-elevating Nature 
 
 The coldness of these times upbraids 
 In many an allegoric feature. 
 
 And in old age, and pride of youth, 
 Do thou rejoice, whilst yet thou'rt able, 
 
 To water in the soil of Truth 
 
 The vine of world-encircling Fable. 
 
 1842. 
 
288 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 MAURICE AND GENEVIEVE. 10 
 
 A T Artenay, upon the plains of Beauce, 
 -*- -*- Dwelt the orphan twins, Maurice and Genevieve. 
 Poor were they from their birth, and rural toil 
 Supplied their daily bread : yet both were young, 
 And strong, and healthy ; and their spirit rose 
 Above the surface of calamity, 
 Buoyed up by hope, and gaiety of heart, 
 Which in their nation often takes the hue 
 Of loftiest virtue. So the orphans clave 
 To one another, and swift years rolled by. 
 
 It was the busy day of harvest-home ; 
 And Maurice with his fellows fared afield, 
 Foremost to gather in the rustling sheaves. 
 Their hearts were willing, but their bodily frames 
 Fainted with toil: a dull, unnatural sense 
 Of hot imprisonment and ponderous gloom 
 Hung o'er the flagging spirits like a pail. 
 Low flew the raven through the steaming haze 
 With croaking note : anon the sullen rain, 
 Like molten lead upon beleaguering hosts, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 289 
 
 Dropped heavy from the portals of the sky, 
 That muttered thunder. Near it came, and nearer ; 
 Yet the men plied their tasks ; till right o'erhead 
 The forked lightnings in a body streamed, 
 With flakes of fire that ran along the ground — 
 (For so it seemed to one with whom I spake) 
 One crash of stunning light : — a cry was heard — 
 And momentary blindness fell on all. 
 Recovering one by one, they spoke — they gazed — 
 But saw not Maurice : him they found at length 
 Senseless among the sheaves, blackened and scathed 
 By lightning. Sore amazement fell on all ; 
 And the men rose, and bore him to his home, 
 And wept around him, for they loved him well. 
 
 But how describe the grief of Genevieve ! 
 
 There lay her stay, her guide, her love, her life, 
 
 Her other self. She fell upon his couch, 
 
 And called on Maurice. The night wore away, 
 
 And the next day and night ; but hope was none, 
 
 Save in the downy feather placed before 
 
 His lips, that with his breath was idly stirred ; 
 
 And in his feeble inarticulate moans, 
 
 And some few precious words of wandering speech. 
 
 Weeks passed away, nor would the sister leave 
 
290 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Her brother's couch, though sorely pressed by need, 
 
 And wasted by unrest. The neighbours took 
 
 Compassion on the twins, and gave tbem food : 
 
 And Maurice grew at length to know his friends 
 
 And Genevieve ; but rose not from his bed ; 
 
 For either epileptic pangs convulsed 
 
 His limbs, or down they dropped, lank, powerless ; 
 
 And restoration hung not on the kiss 
 
 Of Genevieve. Still the kind neighbours came, 
 
 To weep around him, for they loved him well. 
 
 Months passed, with little change ; and it was said, 
 
 Though reason and perception were restored, 
 
 Maurice must go a cripple to his grave. 
 
 But in the secret soul of Genevieve 
 
 Heroic thoughts arose, with feelings 'kin 
 
 To gladsome inspiration. She had heard 
 
 A wounded veteran, to his home returned, 
 
 "With fervency of thankful speech proclaim 
 
 The healing virtues of the ocean wave : 
 
 And Genevieve was fed on liveliest hope. 
 
 She thought upon the sea by night and day 
 
 As of some mighty fountain of relief 
 
 Where Maurice should be healed, and all be well. 
 
 Her high resolve she took. She fashioned straight, 
 
 With the assistance of the villagers, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 291 
 
 Who bade God speed the work, no bauble coach, 
 But, for stern service meet, a car of wood 
 For Maurice ; and they fitted it with wheels ; 
 And daily him therein at eve she drew 
 (Her work of love when other work was done) 
 From the sick room to choice of sun or shade, 
 With ministerings of tender looks and words, 
 Like a young mother with her nursling child. 
 
 'Twas the eve before their birth-day, and the twins, 
 
 He in his wooden car, she by its side, 
 
 Were sitting in the shadow of a vine, 
 
 When Genevieve thus spake, " The sun that sets 
 
 To-night, dear Maurice, will to-morrow rise, 
 
 I trust, in splendour, and our guardian saint 
 
 Look down benignly on us. Hear me, brother ; 
 
 To-morrow's dawn shall see us on the road 
 
 Towards the sea-coast : — nay, nay, 'tis all arranged :- 
 
 Some gold 1 have will feed us on our way ; 
 
 And I will draw thee thither in this car. 
 
 O, let to-morrow shine on new-born hope ! 
 
 Sum up in one the excursions we have made 
 
 Already, and their distance shall exceed 
 
 That which we will perform. My soul is bent 
 
 Upon the trial ; fear not the result ; 
 
 For even were I not inured to toil, 
 
292 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 What is it that I would not bear for thee ? " 
 And Maurice heard; and faltered forth, " The will 
 Of God be done !" So the twins kissed each other: 
 And Genevieve her freight with lively steps 
 Drew towards home. There preparation brief 
 Was made, and day-break saw them on their way. 
 
 Wide are the plains of France ; long the ascents; 
 
 Houseless and large the prospects ; wearisome 
 
 The highway avenues for many a league. 
 
 Yet what were these to Genevieve ? Her heart 
 
 Was fixed ; and oftentimes she laughed and sang, 
 
 In triumph of the unconquerable will, 
 
 To hide from Maurice her exceeding toil. 
 
 Nor passed the twins unnoticed. The rude swain 
 
 Paused at his work to bless them ; even the loud 
 
 Postilion, that had passed them and repassed, 
 
 Upon the pave slacked, and raised his hat, 
 
 And hushed his whip's explosions ; oftentimes 
 
 The charitable sisters by the skirts 
 
 Of towns and villages, and the spare priest, 
 
 Devoutly questioned them, with hands upraised 
 
 In solemn benediction. Genevieve 
 
 Laid all these things to heart. Kind sheltering roofs 
 
 They found ; but slept beneath the open sky 
 
 Not seldom, and with day-break journeyed on, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 293 
 
 Drenched with cold dews ; then noon -tide's burning ray 
 Enforced repose ; sometimes the pitiless rain 
 O'ertook them on blank wastes ; and once a crew 
 Of miscreants, but for timely succour sent, 
 Would have maltreated Genevieve. They found, 
 As ever is the lot of wayfarers, 
 Hardship with kindness mixed ; but virtue still 
 The rule, and vice the exception. Thus they fared 
 Five weeks, and more, until before them rose 
 Fair Boulogne, diademed with sparkling sea. 
 
 How oft the end for which we long have striven 
 Comes to us unawares, with something like 
 Bewilderment ! — 'twas thus with Genevieve. 
 Then first her footsteps faltered when she saw 
 The moving ocean, and her eyesight swam, 
 Like that of sailors in the calenture, 
 With floating pictures of her native fields 
 Of wavy corn, in strange confusion joined, 
 Crossed by a vision of Bethesda's pool, 
 Vexed by an Angel for the lame man's cure. 
 By the way-side she sate, and hid her face ; 
 And Maurice lifted up his voice and wept. 
 Enough. The remedy that day was tried, 
 Ere they retired to rest. 
 
 Their story soon 
 
294 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Made eloquent the common mouth ; it grew 
 A landward and a seaward theme of praise : 
 And mothers to their children lovingly- 
 Each morning on the sea-beach pointed out 
 The twins of Beauce : gifts were showered down on 
 
 them 
 On all sides : even the rugged fisherman 
 Contributed his mite, and from his nets 
 Brought cheerful offering : very idlers gazed 
 With sympathy. But why prolong the tale ? 
 Maurice in time was cured, and Genevieve 
 Was happiest of the happy. He would leap, 
 And walk, and run, to please her, while she clapped 
 Her hands in ecstasy. And when the time 
 Drew nigh for their departure, there was made 
 A fete for Genevieve : and she was crowned 
 With roses, seated in the wooden car ; 
 A car of triumph now, with ribbons gay ; 
 And Maurice drew her through applauding crowds 
 Unto a festal bower — the simple girl — 
 Whose piety and resolution won 
 The suffrage of all hearts, and left to fame 
 The names of Maurice and of Genevieve. 
 
 1813. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 295 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 THE Child looked up beneath the stars, 
 And said, " I see the skies 
 Are full of holes — the light shines through — 
 Beyond is Paradise." 
 
 The grown-up Sage, with optic tube 
 
 Looked on the glorious Sun, 
 And fixed upon a dusky spot, 
 
 Though but a little one, 
 
 And said, " Beyond the solar light 
 Darkness mine eyes doth gravel — " 
 
 Which of the two, dear friend, think you, 
 Did best the truth unravel ? 
 
 1343. 
 
296 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE BROTHERS' ADVENTURE.* 
 
 TWAS in a tropic ocean -bay 
 Two English boys went forth to swim ; 
 Brothers they were ; trained with the sea 
 
 To gambol ; lithe of limb 
 And dauntless ; now they float as still 
 As sea-birds ; now with long-breathed skill 
 Headlong they dive below, and rise 
 With pied shells in their grasp, and many an oozy 
 prize. 
 
 But I must not fail to tell 
 
 How a fairy islet lay 
 About three cables' lengths from shore, 
 
 The jewel of the bay. 
 And thither with swift strokes they race, 
 Holding pleasure still in chase, 
 Through cleft waves that, as on they dash, 
 Close round their shoulders with a rainbow flash. 
 
 * See Captain Markyat's Novel of Frank Mildmay, Chapter 
 xviii. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 297 
 
 And landing in a tiny cove, 
 
 They rove the islet o'er and o'er, 
 
 Naked, in boyish liberty ; 
 And high and low explore 
 
 Its rocks, and inmost coral caves, 
 
 Whose bases mighty ocean laves, 
 
 Dashing to their vaulted height 
 
 Gleams of mystic azure light. 
 
 And now 'tis time to think of home ; 
 
 'Tis time again to take the flood ; — 
 But O, a spectacle of fear 
 
 Congeals their youthful blood I 
 Blade-like, peaked, black, and thin, 
 Above the water peers the fin 
 Of a hungry, roaming shark, 
 That seems the brothers for his prey to mark ; 
 Nor is there within hail one friendly bark. 
 
 Ah, well may they grow pale with dread ! 
 
 The younger clings about his brother, 
 And cries, " We never shall return — 
 
 My mother, O my mother 1" 
 The elder boy, with desperate cheer, 
 Makes faltering answer — " Do not fear" — 
 
298 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Vain words ; for see ! the monster rears 
 
 His jaws in sight, then dips, then slowly reappears. 
 
 A deadly film comes o'er their eyes ; 
 
 They have neither pulse nor breath : 
 But there to stand is to endure 
 
 Companionship with death. 
 Half conscious what they do, they creep 
 Into a cave that faces not the deep : 
 And sooth, 'tis better patiently 
 Unseeing and unseen to lie, 
 Than dally with their watchful enemy. 
 
 And they look forth from hour to hour ; 
 
 But still the shark is prowling near ; 
 And they are cold ; and sunset comes 
 
 With sundry kinds of fear. 
 And now the tide is flowing fast 
 Into their cave ; all hope is past, 
 If they by swimming cannot reach 
 The footing of the friendly beach. 
 
 And still they shudder, crouch, and cower ; 
 
 O how unlike their former glee ! 
 As from a strange and gory grave, 
 
 They shrink from the bright sea. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 299 
 
 Heavy is their choice of woe ; 
 
 For they must drown, or brave the cruel foe : 
 
 Once more they look : — hope beams I far off, or near, 
 
 They see him not — " Heaven send our way be clear — 
 
 Now is the time ; we will not perish here !" 
 
 For the dear life to shore they strain, 
 Convulsed, worse than in fever-dreams ; 
 
 The sky seems blood, the waters blood ; 
 And once the younger screams 
 
 Aloud for help ! — yet both come safe to land ; 
 
 But in a swoon lie spent upon the sand, 
 
 Till a warm clasp recals them, and they hear 
 
 Wild words of love, breaking the trance of fear ; 
 
 For she hangs o'er her boys, their mother dear. 
 
 1845. 
 
300 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 A TRUE STORY.* 
 
 " Like to the bullet's grazing 
 
 That breaks out in a second course of mischief." 
 
 Hen. V. iv. 3. 
 
 RICHARD, the king of all our childhood's terrors, 
 The night before he fell on Bosworth field, 
 Lay at the town of Leicester. Likely 'tis 
 He slept not sweetly ; but he lay at Leicester, 
 In an old-fashioned house, the old Blue Boar, 
 In his own bed, brought thither for the nonce ; 
 A moveable of blackest heart of oak, 
 With quaint devices carved of fruits and flowers, 
 And shapes of Cherubim with folded wings, 
 To watch o'er sleeping innocence — God save 
 The mark ! and there 'twas left, and many years 
 Stood out of use, unblest by birth of babe 
 Or good man's death, but not unheeded, for 
 The thing became a sight for travellers 
 Agape for wonders, and a source of gain 
 
 * See Hutton's Bosworth Field, and Mrs. Markham's His- 
 tory of England. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 301 
 
 To those who owned it. Well, a century 
 Or more, passed by, when, as it so fell out, 
 The good Dame of the house heard in the room 
 Mysterious noises ! half in fear, and half 
 In curiosity, she turned, and stooped, 
 And gathered from the floor a piece of money, 
 Fallen from the mouldering frame-work of the bed : 
 And with more search, she lighted on a hoard 
 Of golden coin, above three hundred pounds, 
 Hid in a nook therein, contrived with skill. 
 And with light heart she went her way, and told 
 Her friends the marvellous story ; part of whom 
 Rejoiced with her, part envied her good fortune. 
 But what remains is tragical. The Dame 
 By her own servant, whom that money tempted, 
 Was robbed and murdered, and the offender after 
 Died for the fact. 
 
 Did then some cunning fiend, 
 Incorporate with the gold, linger behind, 
 When Richard's gloomy spirit fled the earth, 
 And bide his time throughout those hundred years ; 
 Then when the pelf was found, forthwith depart ; 
 And fire in parting an infernal train, 
 Rapine, and bloodshed, and untimely death ? 
 No chronicles, or fabulous or true, 
 
302 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Of conflagration, or of pestilence, 
 
 Or other bounding subtleties of mischief, 
 
 Long smothered, breaking out afresh, to this, 
 
 The tale I have attempted to relate, 
 
 Afford a parallel : for it is big 
 
 With portent and with circumstance, and throws 
 
 On foul relapse a hue most dark and strange ! 
 
 1845. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. S03 
 
 THE SIXTH SENSE. 
 
 HO loves not music doth possess his senses 
 I' the letter, not the spirit. Accent's rich 
 Divisions, light and shade of pause and rhythm, 
 Are foreign to him ; and he cons amiss 
 His love's pulsations, when he sits beside her, 
 Her hand in his : nor apprehends he well 
 The poetry of form : nor can I think 
 That the moss-rose, crushed grass, or fresh-ploughed 
 
 earth, 
 Breathe out as much of balmy joy for him, 
 As for the man with ears tuned to sweet sounds, 
 Thereby created lord of a sixth sense, 
 That sorts divinely with the five in turn. 
 
 1845, 
 
304 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 PAINS AND PLEASURES. 
 
 FROM things around 'tis good to borrow 
 Types of joy and types of sorrow. 
 Would'st thou shun misfortune's shocks, 
 
 Few, in sooth, and far between, 
 Yet such as may, like sunken rocks, 
 Whelm thee in perils unforeseen ? 
 Let experience write a caution 
 On the chart of memory's ocean. 
 
 Whilst fools for massive ingots pine, 
 Make thou all precious atoms thine. 
 Time, a stream with sands of gold, 
 
 Flows towards Eternity ; 
 Of the rich grains thither rolled 
 
 Let thy goblet fashioned be ; 
 Pour therein a cheerful measure 
 Of the wine of blameless pleasure. 
 
 Wouldst thou fragrant hopes embosom ? 
 Blossom intertwine with blossom ; 
 Here a little, there a little, 
 Culling in the thymy mead ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 305 
 
 Stoop unwearied ; spare no tittle 
 
 Of their sweetness ; some must fade 
 Ere sunset : thus shall many a flower 
 For many a day adorn thy bower. 
 
 Images, or grave or gay, 
 
 Wouldst thou sit and summon ? They 
 
 Come not to you : you must follow 
 
 Nature's soft mysterious call 
 O'er the plain and down the hollow ; 
 
 You must seek the waterfall, 
 And the solemn pool that glasses 
 The o'erbending forms of reeds and grasses. 
 
 So in this world of smooth and rough 
 Evil may be warded off: 
 And o'er a not inglorious issue 
 
 Mortals hold a certain sway, 
 If in one enduring tissue 
 
 They weave all good things day by day. 
 Happiness shall woo the wooer 
 Who will step by step pursue her. 
 
 1842 
 
307 
 
 NOTES TO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Note 1. Page 188, line 21. 
 And parching hollows and volcanic rocks, 
 
 " TT7"HOEVER compares a well-executed map of 
 * » the moon with a similar map of the Phlegrsean 
 fields near Naples, cannot fail to be struck with their 
 general resemblance, and will readily acknowledge that 
 an Aristarchus, an Hipparchus, an Aristillus, and a 
 Regiomontanus (lunar inequalities so named), may lay 
 claim to a relationship with an Astruni, a Monte Bar- 
 baro, an Avernus, and a Solfatara. Most of the lunar 
 volcanoes, it should seem, are extinct ; but there are 
 observations on record which render it highly pro- 
 bable that many of them are in a state of activity ; 
 nay, that their eruptions have actually been witnessed 
 by human eyes not long since." — From a Journal of a 
 Tour in 1841, printed in 1842, for private distribu- 
 tion, by the Author of the present volume. 
 
308 NOTES TO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Note 2. Page 189, line 1. 
 The nebulous wonders of Orion's brand; 
 
 In the celestial charts the great Nebula of Orion is 
 placed in his sword. 
 
 " This Nebula is very bright in the part surround- 
 ing four stars forming a trapezium, which seems (whe- 
 ther by the effect of contrast with the dazzling light 
 of the stars, or from a real deficiency in nebulous 
 matter) to have retreated from immediate contact with 
 them, so that they appear in some degree insulated, 
 and with a darkness around them. This would agree 
 with the idea of a subsidence of the Nebula into the 
 stars by gravitation, but it is probably only a decep- 
 tion. In such cases every one remembers the cele- 
 brated line, — 
 
 " ' Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear.' " 
 
 Par. Lost, III. 380. 
 
 From a paper by Sir John Herschel in the 
 Memoirs of the Royal Astronomical 
 Society, vol. ii. part 2, p. 490. 
 
 Note 3. Page 189, line 3. 
 And other suns, and some in pairs distmct, 
 In allusion to the systems of double stars, concern- 
 
NOTES TO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 309 
 
 ing which see Cabinet Cyclopaedia, Astronomy, 
 pp. 385—395. 
 
 Note 4. Page 189, line 10. 
 Or visitation of meteoric bands 
 
 In allusion to the flights of meteors looked for about 
 the 10th of August, and again about the 14th of No- 
 vember. 
 
 Note 5. Page 192, line 21. 
 The wing of homeward rook creaking aloft, 
 
 This word " creaking," is borrowed from a poem 
 by Coleridge entitled, This Lime-Tree Bower my 
 Prison. See his note on the passage. 
 
 Note 6. Page 198, line 1. 
 " Fish, fish, are ye in your duty P " 
 
 " She approached the frying-pan, to the 
 
 great consternation of the cook-maid, who stood im- 
 moveable at the sight ; and striking one of the fishes 
 with the end of the rod, " Fish, fish," said she, " art 
 thou in thy duty?" 
 
 Story of the Fisherman in the Arabian 
 Nights' Entertainments. 
 
310 NOTES TO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Note 7. Page 259, line 1. 
 Herschel, of zealous father zealous son, 
 
 Sir John Herschel was absent from England four 
 years and seven months on his astronomical expedition 
 undertaken for the purpose of reviewing the heavenly 
 bodies in the southern hemisphere. He sailed from 
 Portsmouth for the Cape of Good Hope on the 13th 
 or the 15th of November 1833, and returned to Eng- 
 land on the 16th of May 1838. 
 
 Note 8. Page 236, line 2. 
 
 Lashing the viewless flies, waited the evening milking 
 pails. 
 
 For lines of this length admitted into heroic metre, 
 see Wordsworth's fourth Evening Voluntary, his 
 Love lies bleeding ; Dryden's JEneid, book iv. line 
 271, and his Cymon and Iphigenia, in two places. 
 See page 109, line 10, of this volume. 
 
 Note 9. Page 272, line 5. 
 Though you gnaw me to the root, 
 
 KrjV juc 0cty?/c lirl pi£ai>, o/nug 'In Kapwo(j)Opr](T0), 
 ''Qaaov iirc(77niaai uoi, rpdyt, Bvojxtva. 
 
 Anthologia. 
 
NOTES TO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 311 
 
 " Rode, caper, vitem ; tamen hinc, cum stabis ad aram, 
 In tua quod fundi cornua possit, erit." 
 
 Ovid. Fast. I. 357. 
 
 Note 10. Page 288. Title. 
 Maurice and Genevieve. 
 
 This tale was taken from Chambers s Edinburgh 
 Journal, Saturday, February 18th, 1843. It is there 
 stated that " the facts of our story are to be found in 
 Bouilly's Contes populaires" 
 
 C. YVIHTTINCiUAM, (JIIISWJCK. 
 
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