06- "^^ >■ '.0^ ^>^ -< ^-^^ ^. ■'&■ ' ^ f^' f.-. «, ■' -^ .^^'' . Vr. • % ,.:■'■ ti .^-''' ■^v .^'^ - ■y'^ 0^ t ,.s ■?*^ _ ... % ■-00^ ^^■^ ■^'t, ■ ' ■%/ *"^" '\^ ■^^^N'^'' %=>' ^^^,^^' '^o,^ o 0' . V -^ y ^ cP ^ \^ A. c^ '^ ,/v •i' "^ .<<■ ■% <^ '\ ^ % -^' '^ ■^/, <-' % .^'' ..^^ "^. .. .-.« ^, ..^'^^• V „ •7 ^' ■-^. .sV .0^ <{■• 0<^' ^<^. c^' =t.. %v^ *-<. •^^ f ^ - ^,# ' ..$-^. =^^. .0 .•y .*' "^^- ,^^'' ■* O 0' 05- %■ .<^' ^ -. c^^ ^-^ -v .>^ "'■^^ '%. ,^^' CO ,A-i' .^ O THE LOVES km HEEODES OF THE POETS. EDITED BY RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LI PPIN C OTT & CO. 1864. Kntered, according to Art of Cnnprfss, in thp year I8fiO. tiy DERBT & JACKSON, In Lbe Clerk's Ofllce of the Ihstrict Court of the United Statea for the Southern District of New York. ByTrwwhr O.c Public Library DEC 22 1038 WITHDRAWN PREFACE, My object in this volume is to present specimens of Englisli love-poetry, especially that which is, or seems to be, addressed to particular women — " the Loves and Heroines of the Poets," and to give, as concisely as possible, all that is known con- cerning them. I ^ begin with the three great Italian poets, because I conceive their love-sonnets — -above all, Petrarch's — to have been the models after which our earl}' jjoets shaped their amorous fancies. Wyatt and Surrey, even when most original, are little better tlian imitators of Petrarch. Indeed, so notorious was this fact in the generation immediately suc- ceeding them, that they were said to have travelled in Italy, and to have brought their art from thence. I trace the course of love-jjoetry in English Literature from Wyatt to the poets of the present day. I have gone over the ground carefully, and have selected what seemed to me the best specimens for a volume of this kind. The poetic literature of the age of Elizabeth and tlie times of Charles the First and Second, is largely represented. I have arranged my materials chrono- logically, giving the dates at which the different poems were written, wlxerever they were known, or at least the dates and nanres of the volumes in which, as far as I could ascertain, they were first printed : where there was nothing j^ositive to guide me, I have arranged them conjecturally. When I could consult the early editions, I have done so, although I have not IV PREFACE. always followed their readings, when a later one seemed better. I have chosen authenticated portraits, when I could obtain them, in preference to ideal heads, greatly, I think, to the permanent value of the work. For some of the best of these illustrations I am indebted to my friend Barry, who has copied from their scarce originals the portraits of Laura, Beatrice, and Geraldine, and drawn from his imagination the ideal heads of Shakespeare's Mistress, Burns's Higliland Mary, and Coleridge's Genevieve. R. H. 8. CONTENTS ■^ r»A.NTE .AJLIGHIERI. Beatrice '■ To every captive soul " " Young, tender, noble maiden ' *'0 Love ! since while I gazed " " Tell me, liind ladies " . " All thoughts that meet " " Many the times " . "So noble and so modest" . " He the perfection sees " " A lady piteous, and of tender age ' "Say, pilgrims, ye who go " . " Remembrance had brought back " " Farewell, alas ! farewell" . PAGE . 4 . 5 . 5 . 7 . 8 inRA-NCKSCO FEXRAJtCH. Laura He confesses the vanity of his passion He blames love for wounding him . On the portrait of Laura . Recollections of love He is bewildered .... Could he but see the house of Laura Though he is unhappy To the fountain of Vaucluse He envies every spot that she frequents To the sun To love, on Laura walking abroad He leaves Vaucluse Hearing no tidings of her He desires to die He prays that she will be near him He would die of grief Since her death, he has ceased to live . 18 18 19 19 20 20 21 21 22 TORQTJA.TO TA.SSO. Leonora " If love his captive bind " " 1 see the anchored bark" "Thou, in thy unripe years" . " Till Laura comes, who now " " I saw two ladies once " " 'Twas night and underneath ' 23 28 28 29 29 29 30 " Ah me ! it is a cruel destiny " . . .30 " One day my lady at a balcony " . . . 31 "Three high-horn dames it was my lot" . 31 " She, who a maiden, taught me, love " . .32 " Anger a champion bold *' . . .32 " Wandering Ulysses " 32 " A hcU of torment " 33 SIR THOMAS ^VYA.TX. Note 34 The lover prayeth his offered hoairt . 33 The lover forsaketh his unkind love . 35 The lover despairing to attain . . . 30 The deserted lover cousoleth himself . 36 The lover curseth the time . . . .37 An earnest suit to his unkind mistress . . 38 The forsaken lover cousoleth himself . . 38 The lover laments the death of his love . 39 IIEN"RY HO^WARID. EARL OP SURREY. Geraldine 41 Description and praise of his love . . 43 Complaint 43 Request to his love . A praise of his lad3' 44 44 VI CONTENTS. Isabella Mabkham To Isabella Markham JOHN" HLA.RriUSrGXON. PACE . 41) I A sonnet . 46 PAGE . 48 TH01VLA.S -WArrsoN. Sonnet 49 I Sonnet Sonnet 50 | THOMLA-S LOr)G-K. Rosador's sonneto 52 I " Now I find thy looks were feigned " The shepherd's sorrow . . . . 53 | 54 JOHN LILY. " Cupid and ray Campaspe played " . 56 | " yes, yes, if any maid " 56 SIR PHILIP SYDNEY. Stella " In truth, lore " . " You that do search " " Because I oft '' " Come Sleep, Sleep !" " Having this day my horse ' " In martial sports I had " '■ Because I breathe not love " "Dear! why make you " "Highway, since you" . " Stella ! think not that " " happy Thames ! that did'.st ' " Unhappy sight, and hath she " 62 62 63 63 63 64 ROBERT GREENE. Doron's description of Samela . . 65 | The praise of Fawnia 66 SAJtrUEL Delia ... . . . 67 " Unto the boundless ocean " . . 67 " Fair is my love, and cruel " . . 68 " Restore thy tresses '' . . 68 " Look, Delia, how w' esteem " . 68 " But love whilst that thou may'st . 69 X>ANIEL. " When men shall find " . " Read in my face " " Beauty, sweet love " . " I must not grieve my love '' " And whither, poor forsaken ' 69 70 70 70 71 M3CHLAJEL IDRA.YTON. Note 72 " Bright star of beauty " . . . 72 " 'Mongst all the creatures " . . .72 " I hear some say " 73 " Dear, why should you command " . 73 " Why should your fair eyes ' "Clear Ankor " " You, best discerned ". " Since there's no help " An hymn 74 74 75 75 CHRISTOPHER MLA.RLO"W. The passionate shepherd to his love 78 ED^WARX) VERE. EARL OF OXFORD. Tlie shepherd's commendation of his nymph 80 CONTENTS. vu \X EliMiTJTSrD SPENSKR. FACE E . . .... . 82 " New Year, forth looking " . . 83 " The merry cuckoo " . 83 " This holy season " . 84 " While guile is this " . 84 " Mark when she smiles " . 85 " When my abode's " . 85 " The glorious image '' . " Like as an huntsman " " The famous warriours '* '^ Fresh Spring, the herald " " Being myself captivfid " "Since I did leave '' " Like as the culver " 86 86 86 87 87 G-RUfFIN. * Fair is ray love '' ' I have not spent " 89 89 ' Sweet stroke, (so might I thrive) ' ' Weep now no more, mine eyes" 90 90 William: shake si»ea.rb. Note 91 ' So is it not with me " . . . .93 * My glass shall not persuade me " .94 ' Weary with toil I haste " . . .94 ' How careful was I " . . . . !)5 ' That time of year " .... 95 ' How like a winter " . . . .95 ' From you have I been absent " . . 96 ' The forward violet " 96 ' My mistress' eyes " 97 ' How oft, when thou, my music " . .97 ' Thine eyes I love " 97 ' When my love swears " . . . .98 ' O call me not to justify " . . . .98 ' O me ! what eyes hath love " . . .99 'Canst thou, cruel " 99 The silent lover SIR ■W.Ai.TER RAXiEIGm. . 100 I His love admits no rival 101 SIR Er)"\Arj!i.Rr) dyer. To Phillis, the fair shepherdess 103 NICHOLAS BRETON. A pastoral of Phillis and Coridon . . 104 | Coridon's suppUcation to Philhs 105 Of his Cynthia FULKE C3^REVILE. LORD BROOKE. . 107 I MjTa's inconstancy 108 ERANCIS DAVISON. Of bis lady's weeping His sighs and tears are bootless 110 110 His farewell Ill BEN JONSON. Song 112 I Song ■ . 113 To CeUa 113 To the same 114 To Celia A celebration of Charis . His discourse with Cupid Claiming a second kiss by desert 114 115 116 117 VIU CONTENTS. ■WILLIAM AJLEXAJSTDEK. EARL OF STIKLING. Aurora " I swear, Aurora" " If that so many brave men ' PAGE . 119 . 119 . 120 ' Now when the Siren sings " ' I dreamed, the nymph " ' Ah, thou (my love) wilt lose " PAGE . 120 . 121 . 121 SIR ROBERT AT^TTON. On love 122 I Song On a woman's inconstancy . . . 123 | Song 124 125 Song . THOMLA-S H:EY"WOOX>. . 12G I "Ye little birds that sit and sing ' 127 "Willi-A-m: brotvts'e:. ' Shall I tell you whom I love " . .128] '-Welcome, welcome do I sing "' 129 willia-m: r)RXJM:M:oN'r)- Note .... " In my first years " " O sacred blush" . " Trust not, sweet soul " " Slide soft, fair Forth " " She whose fair flowers . 131 . 131 . 132 . 132 . 132 . 133 ' Are these the flowery banks ' ' Alexis here she stayed " ' How many times " ' Sweet soul, which in " ' Sweet spring, thou turn'st " 133 134 134 135 135 JOHN" DOlSnSTBJ. Note 13G Song 138 The sun-rising 140 The relic . The anniversary . 141 . 142 The indifferent , . 143 I Secrecy protested 144 " Go, happy heart " Song . . . . JOHN FLETCHER. . 145 I To the blest Evanthe . 146 Ode . 146 147 A love song GEORGE -WITHIER. . 148 I " Shall I, wasting in despair " 151 SIR HENRY -WOTTON. The QtJEEN op Bobemia . . . . 153 | To his mistress, the Queen of Bohemia . . 155 CONTENTS. IX THOMLA.S RA-IvTIDOLFH;. To one admiring herself in a looking-glass FACE . 156 "WILLL^M: HAJBIlvrGXON". Castara 158 To Castara 159 To Castara ..... 159 To the spring 160 To Castara 160 To Seymors 161 To Castara To Castara Love's anniversary To Castara To roses . Upon Castara's departure 161 162 162 163 163 164 Song . SIR avilil,i.a.m: DA.VBNAJN'T. 165 I Song 166 JOHlSr IHILXON. Note 167 "Fair lady! whose harmonious name" 168 " As on a hill-top rude " . . . . 168 : On his deceased wife To Charles Deodati 168 i "Lady! it cannot be'* . Eiiiimoured, artless, young " 169 169 170 THOMLAS CARKTV^. Celia 171 Song 171 Song 172 To his jealous mistress . . . .173 Ungrateful beauty threatened . . . 173 Parting. Celia weeps 174 A prayer to the wind 174 Song 175 jAiMES g-rajia.m:e. MARQUIS OF MONTEOSE. My dear and only love, I pray 177 EDMXTNT) ■WAX.LER. Saccharissa 182 I Song At Penshurst 184 To Amoret 185 186 SIR JOHT>r STJCKX,IKr&. Note 188 " 'Tis now, since I sat down before " . 188 Song 190 Sonnet 1 190 Sonnet n 191 Song 192 SIR FRAJSrCIS KINGSTON". To Cynthia, on her changing 193 B CONTENTS. SYDNEY GrODOLFHIN. Song FAOE . 195 'Vt^ILLI^^LMl CART^VKIG!■IIT. A sigh sent to his absent love . . . 197 I A valediction To Chloe 198 199 JAJVEES SHIRLEY. To Odelia 200 I The kiss Taking leave 201 | 202 RICHA-ier) CRA.SHA."W. Out of the Italian 203 | The dew no more shall weep . 205 AJBRA.HAJS'L CO^^VLEY. Note The spring 206 I 206 Clad all in white The chronicle . 208 209 ^-^o -BERT HERRICK. Cherry ripe 212 I Being once blind The rock of rubies 212 ] To the western wind The captived bee 213 i To his maid Prue To daisies 214 " " The night-piece 214 Upon Julia's hair 215 To Anthea 215 ToAnthea 215 Upon Prue, his maid ToElectra .... To Myrrha, hard-hearted Upon the loss of his mistresses 216 216 216 217 217 217 218 RICHA-Rr) LOVELA.CE. LnCASTA 219 To Lucasta 220 To Lucasta 221 To Althea 222 Song The scrutiny Elinda's glove 223 224 225 JOmsr CLEA^EL,A.NTD. Upon PhilUs, walking in a morning before sun-rising 226 PA.TRICK C^^_REY. ^ Fair beauties ! if I do confess " 228 THOftlA-S STAJSTLEY. The deposition 230 I The exequies The tomb 231 232 CONTENTS. XI SIR. ED'W^Rr) SHERBXTRNE PAGE >'-*G^ Change defended 233 | Love once, love ever 234 HENRY KING. The surrender 23.'> I The exeqny 23S Tlie legacy 23ii | Song 241 SIR ROBERT IIO\V.A.RD. To the inconstant Cynthia 242 CHAJJLES SACIiVILLE. EARL OP DORSET. Song SIR CHARLES SEDXiEY. Song 24G Song 247 Song 248 JOHN BRYDEN. Song 266 I Song to a fair young lady JOHN NORRIS. Superstition 243 To Chloris 248 Song 249 Song 250 AJSraDRE"W" IMA-RVEBL. The gallery 2.51 I The mower to the glow-worms . . . 254 The picture of T. C 253 | joh:n "w^iljmot. earl op rochester. Song 255 I Song 256 chla.rii.es cotton. To Chloris 257 | Estrennes 258 261 2R2 xu CONTENTS. ■X'HOJVLA.S FARNELL. TAGB Note 264 I Song 205 Sonjr 2G4 MIATTHE^W FRIOR. Note 2f>6 An ode 2C6 To Chloe weeping 2G7 A song 267 Song 268 -AJLiEXA-NDER POPE. Note 269 I Epistle to Mrs. Martha Blount . . .273 Epistle to Mrs. Teresa Blount . . . 271 1 JOHN" BY ROM. Note 274 | A pastoral 274 NICHOLAS RO^^^E. Note 277 | Colin's complaint 277 J03srA.TH:A3sr s^vift. Note 280 Stella's birth-day 285 Stella's birth-day 286 To Stella .287 Stella's birth-day 288 A.LLj^N" RAMSA.Y. The lass of Patie's mill .... 291 I " Gi'e me a lass with a lump of land " . . 293 O'er the moor to Maggie .... 292 [ j.A.iyLES th:om:son. To Fortune 294 | To her I love 295 HIENRY CAREY. Note 296 | Sally in our alley . • .... 296 CHLA.RLES HiAlMlLTOlSr. LORD BINNING. The shepherd's complaint 299 CONTENTS. xui avILLIj^M: SBCENSa'ONE- TAGE Note A pastoral ballad : I. Absence " " II. Hope . . 301 . 301 . 303 A pastoral ballad : III. Solicitude . . 305 .' " rV. Disappointment . 307 Note TL.ORT> LYTTLKTON. . 309 I An irregular ode 309 Song MLAJ4K ^^JKENSIDE. 311 The fireside NA.TJ3.AJ THURLO^V. " Since alll see " 392 I " I think you are the prophet " . . .393 " Thy love is to my heart " . . . 392 | '• I called you, and too well " . . .393 THOML^S 3MOORE. Believe me, if all 394 j Lesbia hath a beaming eye . . . . 395 I saw thy form 394 | CONTENTS. XV SIR ■^V.AJLTKR SCOTX. PAGE PAGE Nora's vow 397 | Song 398 LEia-H HUNT. To my wife 399 | " Jenny kissed me " 399 JOHN KE^^TS. Note . 400 " As Hermes once " 402 " The day is gone " 403 " I cry yon mercy " 403 To 404 Tlie first of May 406 CHJSlRILiES ■wolfk. Song . . 408 JEIEG1NAJL.1D HIEBER. Lines 410 ■WILLL!?ijyt CXJLLEIV BRY^A-NX. " fairest of the rural maids " . . 412 | The future life 413 ED^W-AJRU COA.TBS PINICNEY. A health 415 G-EORO-B I5A.RLEY. " Sweet in her green dell " 417 -AJLERED TENISTYSON. Lady Clara Vere de Vere . . . 418 | '• Come into the garden, Maud " . . . 420 XVI CONTENTS. "BAKEY CORNWALL." PAGE The poet's song to his wife . . . 423 I Hermioue 425 Golden-tressecl Adelaide .... 424 Marian 425 Jeanib Mokkison 42G | Jeanie Morrison 427 THOMLA-S HOOr>. Fair Ines 430 | Liues 431 NA.THCAJSriEL PA-RIiER T^ILLIS. To her who lias hopes for me 432 raiUIP PENX)XiET03Sr COOIiE. Florence Vane 434 OLIVER WENX)EIjL HOLBIKS. La grisette 436 "W^INTHROl? IVLACK^V^ORTII PR^ED. Josephine 438 J^I^ES RXJSSEX.L LO^WKLL. " My Love, I have no fear " . . . 440 I In absence 441 " I can not thiuli that thou " . . . 440 | '• I thought our love at full " . . . .441 ROBERT BRO^V^NIISTG-. The lost mistress 442 | Evelyn Hope 443 -W^AJLTER S.A.V.A.G-E LA.NDOR. " One year ago niy path "... 445 " I love to hear that men " . . . 445 " Have I tJiis moment " . . . . 44i; " Here, ever since you went abroad " . 446 "Little it interests me how " . . . . 446 " The maid I love ne'er thought of me " . 447 " Often I have heard it said " . . . • 447 CONTENTS. ^vil " The words that trembled " EDG-AR ,A-LiLAJSr POE. To Helen 450 | To one in paradise C3-EORGrE M^E REDITU. Love in the valley THOMIA-S BTJCHAJSTAJSr RE.AJD. A glimpse of love MLA.TTI£E"W AJRNOI^T). Excuse ROBERT LYTXOISr BXJLWER. "OWEN MEREDITH." BA.YARX) TAYLOR. The mystery GEORGE HENRY BOKER. " Nay, not to thee " 469 " Where lags my mistress " . . . 469 •' Your love to me appears" . . .470 PAGE U8 452 453 456 457 459 "wtllia-m: aj^linghajm. Lovely Mary Donnelly *'^1 HENRY ■WJkUS'WORTH LONGFELLO^V. Hiawatha's wooing **** 467 ' I do assure thee, love " . . . . 470 ' I will uot blazon forth " . . . .471 ' All the world's malice " . . . • 471 xviii CONTENTS JO ELNT G-REENLELAJP ■WTIITXIKR. PAGE MaudMuUer 472 COVENTRY P^TMiORE. By the sea 477 THOIMA-S BA-ILEY AXiDRICH. Palabras Cariflosas 480 LOVES AND HEEOIJSTES. DANTE ALIGHIERI 1 265 — 1 32 1. B E A T K I (J E. All that is known of Beatrice may lie sumiiied uji in a few words. She was the daugh- ter of Foico Portinari, a wealtliy citizen of Florence, in which city she was liorn in 12fi6. Dante saw her for the first time in 1274, at a banquet in lier father's house. It was a May-day festival, and she appeared in a blood-red dress. They were more children, both bein^ in their ninth year, still they were old enough to love: at least Dante was, for at the sight of IJeatriee he was seized with a sudden passion for her. At the end of nine years they met again. She was walking in the street at the time, between two ladies, and was clothed in wliite. Dante trembled at her approach, and would ha\'e shrank away, but she saw him, and he was rooted to the ground. She salutcil him graciously, and lie was in the seventh heaven of love. The next time that he saw her was at (church. She sat at a distance from him, on a line witli anotlier lady, who interce])ted his loving looks. lie was accused of loving -tliis lady, and for tlie sake of Beatrice, whose rank seems to have been superior to his own, he favored the mistake, and pretended to be enamoured of her. He wrote a poem on sixty of the loveliest women in the city, and do what he would to the contrary, the name of Beatrice always came the ninth in the list. She made a journey to a distant jiart of the country, and during her absence he feigned to be in love with another, which ort'ended her so wlien she heard of it, that she would not salute him on her return. The next thing we learn is that she is married. The date of her marriage is not given, liut it must liavc been Iiofore the loth of January, 1287, for on that day her father drew up a will, in which she and her husband, Simone dei Bardi, were mentioned. The death of her lather two years later, and her excessive grief on that occasion, closed the book of her life. She died on the 9th of June, 1290. This is a meagre account certainly, but it is all that Dante's commentators, for five hun- dred years, have been able to wring from the Past, and much of this would, doubtless, have escaped them bnt for Dante himself, so stormy were the times in which he lived. A few years after her death he collected the poems that he had written upon her, and published them with a biographical and critical commentary. This work, which he 1 2 LOVES AND HEROINES. called " The New Life " ( Vita Ifuova), was followed by auotlier called " The Banquet " (Convito), and at length by the celebrated '■'■Divina Commedia,^^ in both of which she is introduced, or rather her name is, for the Beatrice of the '^ Divina Cormnedia^^ and " Thk Banquet " is an embodiment of Philosophy and Religion, and not the Beatrice Portinari, whom Dante loved in his youth, and remembered with fondness in his age. The following extracts are from "The Kew Life." Tlie version used is that of Lyell. (London, 184.5.) To every captive soul and gentle lieart, Into whose sight tlie present song shall come, Praying their thoughts on what it may portend, Health in the name of Love, their sovereign lord. A third part of the hours luid almost past Which show in brightest lustre every star, When suddenly before me Love appeared, Whose essence to remember gives me horror. Joyful Love seemed, holding within liis liand My heart, and in his arms enfolded lay Madonna sleeping, in a mantle wrapt. Then waking lu^r, he witli tliis i)urning heart (!ourteously fed her, and in fear she ate. Tliat done, I saw him go his way in tears. Young, tender, noble maiden, since you see That Love, with your consent, has made me yours. And that for you I burn, and waste, and pine, let me not expire without reward. O Love! dear lord, haply thou disbelievest How hard she is, and cruel is my pain; For in thy generous heart there must exist The will to succor my fidelity. And, lady, every pain would be removed If hope were realized, and I were blest With joy which Love solicits you to grant. () help me, then, Madonna, ere I die; 1 live for that alone, and if denied, A corse a'ou soon will see me at vour feet. DANTE ALlCiHIERI. O Love! since while I gazed, you struck this heart A hhjw so dire, that every nerve is pained. In pity, lord, afford it some relief, So that tlie surrowinn; spirit may revive. For see you not these mournful eyes consume In weeping, tlirough extremity of woe. Which hrings nie to the verge of death so near, That my escape is harred on every side. See, lady, what a load of grief I hear ; And hearken to my voice, how weak it is With calling still for pity, and your love : Yet if it be your pleasure, gentle lady, That hy this grief my heart should waste away, Behold your servant humble and resigned. Tell me, kind ladies, have you seen, of late. That gentle creature who my life consumes ? To you I own, that if she do but smile, My thoughts dissolve as snow before the sun. Hence on my heart such cruel l:)lows arrive That tliey would seem to threaten me with death Kind ladies, then, wherever ye may see her, K you by chance should meet her on your way, O rest with lier awhile for pity's sake, And witli liumility make known to her That my life bears tor her the weight of death : And if in mercy she will comfort me. And ease the mind deep laden with my griefs, O send in me, far distant, the glad news. All thoughts that meet within my mind expire, Fair jewel, when I cimie to gaze on you ; And when I am near you, I hear Love exclaim, O iiee, if thy destruction thou would'st shun ! The countenance the heart's complexion wears, Whicli panting seeks support wliei'e'er it can ; LOVES AND HEROINES. Aud through the intoxication of great fear, The very stones, niethinks, ery out. Die, die ! lie sins wlio can beliold uie, then, luunoved, Nor comfort gives to the affrighted soul, At least in showing that he pities me For the distress occasioned by your scorn. Which is apparent in the deadly hue Of these sad eyes, that fain would close in death. Many thu times that to my memory comes The cheerless state imposed on me by Love ; And o'er me comes such sadness, then, that oft I say, Alas, was ever fate like mine! For Love assaulteth me so suddenly. That life itself almost abandons me; One spirit alone escapes alive, and that Is left, fair lady, for it speaks of you. At length I make an effort for relief. And so, all pale and destitute of power, I come to gaze on you, in hope of cure : And if I raise the eyes that I may look, A trembling at my heart begins, so dread. It makes the soul take flight from eveiy vein. So noble and S(j miidest doth appear My lady when she any one salutes. That every tongue becomes in trembling mute, And none dare raise the eyes to look on her. Robed in humility she hears her praise. And passes on with calm benignity; Appearing not a thing of earth, but come From heaven, to show mankind a miracle. So pleasing is the sight of her, that he Who gazes feels a sweetness I'each the heart That must be proved or cannot be conceived. And from her countenance there seems to flow DANTE ALKJHIERI, A spirit full of mildness and uf love, Which says forever to the soul, O sigh. He the perfection sees of every grace, Who doth my lady among ladies see. They who partake her company are bound To render thanlcs to heaven for boon so fair. Her beauty, too, has virtue so benign. That it excites no envy in another. But a resolve to walk like her, arrayed In gentleness, fidelity, and love. Her look on all things sheds humility, And makes her not alone delight the eye. But everything through her receiveth honor. And she so perfect is in all her acts, That no one can recall her to the mind Who doth not sigh amid the sweets of Love. A lady, piteous, and of tender age, Richly adorned with human gentleness, . Stood where I oft was calling upon death ; And seeing that my eyes were full of grief, And listening to the folly of my words. Was moved by fear to weep with bitterness. And other ladies, who were kindly drawn To notice me, through her who wept with me, Removed her from my side. And then approached, to rouse me by their voice. And one said. Sleep no more ! Another said. Why thus discomfort thee? Then fled the strange distressing fantasy, As I was calling on my lady's name. So indistinct and mournful was my voice. And broken so by anguish and by tears, That in my heart I only heard the name : And with a countenance o'erspread with shame. LOVES AND HEROJNES So strongly it had mounted to my face, Love made me turn to them distractedly ; And such was my complexion to the sight, That it led others to discourse of death. let us comfort him. Said each one to tlie other tenderly. And oft they said to me. What hast tliou seen that has unmanned thee thus? And when I had regained some strength, I said, Ladies, to you I will relate the whole. Whilst I lay pondering on my ebbing life, And saw how In-ief its teniire and how frail, Love wept within my heart, where he abides ; For my unhappy soul was wandering so. That sighing heavily, it said, in thought. My lady too most certainly shall die. Such consternation tlien my reason seized. That my eyes closed through fear and heaviness ; And scattered far and wide My spirits fled, and each in error strayed : Imagination then. Bereft of understanding and of truth, Showed me the forms of ladies in distress, Who said to me, Tliou die'st, ay, thou shalt die. Many the doubtful things which next I saw, While wandering in imagination's maze ; 1 seemed to be I know not in what place, And to see ladies pass with hair all loose. Some weeping, and some uttering loud laments. Which darted burning grief into the soul. And then methought I saw a thickening veil Obscure the sun, and night's fair star appear. And sun and star both weep ; Birds flying through the dusky air drop down. And earth itself to shake ; And then appeared a man, feeble, and pale. Saying, What dost thou here ? Hast thou not heard ? Dead is thv ladv, she who M'as so fair. DANTE ALKiHIERI. I raised mine eyes, oppressed and loathed in tears, And saw wliat like a sliower of manna seemed, And angels re-ascending up tn heaven; And spread before them was a little cloud. Behind which they were chanting loud, Ilosanna. And if they more had added, you should hear. Then Love thus sjioke : Concealment here shall end ; Come now and see our lady on her bier. Deceitful fancy then Conducted me to see my lady dead : And while I gazed, I saw That ladies with a veil were covering her ; And in lier face humility so true There was, it seemed to say, I am in peace. So humble in my sorrow I became, Seeing such humbleness in her expressed, That I exclaimed, O Death ! I hold thee sweet ; Thou must be deemed, henceforth, a gentle thing, Since thou hast been united to my lady, And pity thou should'st have, and not disdain : Behold me so desirous to be one Of thine, that I resemble thee in faith : Come, for the heart entreats thee. Tlien, all sad rites being o'er, I went my way ; And when I was alone, I said, with eyes upraised to realms al)Ove ; Blessed is he who sees thee, beauteous soul ! 'Twas then you called to me, thanks to your love. Say, pilgrims, ye who go thus pensively, Musing, perchance, on things that distant are. Come ye from land and men so far away. As by your outward mien ye show to us. That ye weep not when passing through the midst Of the dejected city, in her woe. Seeming as persons who have never heard Of the calamity oppressing her? LOVES AND IIEIIOINKS. If ye remain and liave the will to bear, This heart of sighs assures me ye will then Share in our grief, and weep when ye de})art. The desolate city mourns lier Beatrice, And ill the tale that may he told of her Is virtue to force every one to weep. Remembrance had brought back into my mind That gentle lady for whom Love doth weep, At tlie same instant that his influence Drew your regard to what engaged me. Love, who perceived her presence in the mind. Had waked from slumber in my wretched heart, And calling to the sighs, exclaimed, Go forth ! They lieard, and each departed mournfully. Weeping they issued from my breast, with voice Of grief, which often brings to the sad eyes Tlie bitter tears of my unhappiness. But those which issued forth with greater pain Went saying, Noble intellect, this day Completes the year since thy ascent to heaven. Farewell, alas ! farewell those tresses bright. From whence the hills around Drew and reflected tints of shining gold ; Farewell the beautcoiis cheer, and glances sweet. Implanted in my heart By those fair eyes on that thrice happy day ; Farewell the graceful Idoom Of sparkling countenance ; Farewell the soft sweet smile, Disclosing pearls of snowy white, between Roses of vermeil hue, throughout the year ; Why without me, O Death, These hast thou carried off in beauty's spring ? DANTE ALIGHIERI. Farewell tlie endeariug luirtli, and wi.se reserve, The welcome frank and sweet ; The ^jrudent mind, and well-directed heart ; Farewell the beautiful, meek, proud disdain, Which strengthened my resolve All baseness to detest, and greatness love. Farewell desire, the child Of beauty so abounding ; Farewell the aspiring hope. Which every other made me leave behind, And rendered liglit to me Love's heaviest load ; These hast thou broken, Death, As glass and me to living death exposed. Lady, farewell ! Of every virtue queen. Goddess, for whom, through Love, I have refused all others to adore ; Farewell ! What column, of what precious stone. On earth were worthy found To build thy fane, and lift thee high in air ? Farewell ! thou vessel filled With nature's miracles. By fortune's evil turn High on the rugged mountains thou wast led, Wliere death has closed thee in the cruel tomb ; And of my eyes hath formed Two fountains wearied with incessant tears. Farewell ! and O unpardonable Death, Pity these sorrowing eyes, and own at least, Tliat till thy hand destroy me. Endless sliould be my cry, Alas ! Farewell ! FRANCESCO PETRARCH. 1304—1374. LAURA. As Petrarch was at his devotions in the church of Santa Clara of Avignon, on tlio morning of the 6th of Apiil, 1327, he saw a lady near him in a green mantle sprinkled with violets. Her youth and beauty impressed him ; he forgot the sacredness of the time and place, and, giving himself iip to the feelings which she inspired, was soon in love witli her. lie awoke from his reverie when the service was over, and finding her gone, fol- lowed her and learned her name. It was Laura de Sade. She belonged to a noble Pro- vencal family, and was the wife of Hugo de Sade, a rich citizen of Avignon. This last intelligence, which ought to have discouraged Petrarch, does not seem to have .iftected him much, for he was a priest, and could not liave married her, even if she had been free. We are not told what her emotions were wlien slie discovered, as she soon did, that she was loved by another than her husband, but considering the character of that gentleman, wlio had a habit of scolding her until she wept, it could not have grieved her ■ very deeply. She did not exactly encourage Petrarch, for she was a good wife and mother, with a keen eye to the proprieties of life ; lint neither did she discourage him. As long as he kept within bounds, slie admitted him to her society and friendship, but when he forgot himself, as he sometimes did, and devoured her with passionate looks, her virtue took the :darm, and she withdrew ; or, if tliat were not always practicable, covered her face with a \'eil. Their meetings were probably few and far between, or we should have heard more of them from Petrarch, who was as communicative in all that related to her as he well could be. It was her absence that made him a lover and a poet ; in her presence he was a silent madman. He poured out his soul in song in the solitude of his study, ransacking heaven and earth for metaphors and comparisons. Her eyes were stars, her hair sunbeams. She was the Air ; she was the L.aurel. Her smile was his life, her frown his death. He ran up and down the gamut of passion as no poet before had ever done, and made himself and Laura famous, wherever the Italian language was sjioken or read. Some of his friends doubted the reality of his passion, as they well might after reading some of his glittering conceits ; others even qiiestioned the existence FRANCESCO PETRARCH. 11 of Laura, greatly to Petrarcli's surprise. " As to Laura," he wrote to the Bishop of Loiubes, who bantered him on the subject, in 1335, "would to Heaven that she were only an imaginary personage, and my passion for her only a pastime ! Alas ! it is a mad- ness which it would he difficult and painful to feign for any length of time; and what an extravagance it would be to affect such a passion ! One may counterfeit illness by action, by voice, and by manner, but no one in health can give himself the true air and complex- ion of disease. How often have you yourself been witness of my paleness and my suf- ferings ! I know very well that you speak only in irony ; it is your favorite figure of speech ; but I hope that time will cicatrize the wounds of my spirit, and that Augustine, whom I pretend to love, will furnish me with a defence against a Laura, who does not exist." He tried to divert his mind by travel, and made an extensive tour, hut to no purpose ; he returned to Avignon as he left it — the lover of Laura. He then took a mis- tress, as was the fashion of clerical gentlemen of his time, but neither her blandishments, nor the children she bore him, effected his cure. At last he determined to remove from Avignon. He bought a cottage at Vaueluse, a wild and picturesqiie spot near the wind- ings of the Sorgue. Here he repaired with his books, and devoted himself to study and meditation. He commenced his great Latin epic, "Africa," and planned a history of Rome from Romuhis down to Titus Vespasian. He was a happy man as long as he kept at work, but the moment he became idle his thoughts reverted to Laura. He found some consolation in the society of his friends, but unfortunately they seldom came to see him, for travelling even short distances was difficult then. He threw aside his books, and took to rambling about Vaueluse — tlie very worst thing he could have done, for one day ill the cour.se of his rambles lie found himself at Avignon. It was accidental, no doulit — a piece of absent-mindedness on his part, but somehow it did not end here, for a few days after he found himself at Avignon again, and this time in the neighborhood of Laura's house ! She met him in the street, coquette that she was, and whispered, " Pe- trarch, you are tired of loving me." Tired of loving her — it was impossible ! And to prove it he went home and wrote her a sonnet. About this time he was visited by Simone Martini, of Sienna, a pupil of Giotto, famous for taking s]>irited likenesses. He sat to Simone for his portrait, and was so much pleased with it wlien it was finislied, that he persuaded him to paint him a miniature of Laura, which miniature he ever after carried about with him. Twenty years passed, and his passion was unabated. Laura had aged somewhat in that time, having borne her husband ten children ; but it made no difference to Petrarch. Her wise chastity towards him had kept her young in his eyes. He had enjoyed no favours, not even a kiss : the most that she had granted him was her hand, which she had once permitted him to hold for a little while ! In 1347, he made up his mind to depart for Italy. "Before he left Avignon, he went to take leave of Laura. He found her at an assembly which she often frequented. ' She was seated,' he says, ' among those ladies who are generally her companions, and appeared like a beautiful rose surrounded with flowers smaller and less blooming.' Her air was more touching than usual. She was dressed perfectly plain, and without pearls or gar- lands, or any gay colour. Though she was not melancholy, she did not appear to have l:i LOVES AND HEROINES. her wonted cheerfulness, but was serious and thoughtful. She did not sing as usual, nor speak with that voice that used to charm every one. She had the air of- a. person who fears an evil not yet arrived. ' In taking leave of her,' says Petrarch, ' I sought in her looks for a consolation of ray sufierings. Her eyes had an expression which I had never seen in them before. What I saw in her face seemed to predict the sorrows that threat- ened me.' " • They parted, never to meet again, for in the following spring Laura died of tlie plague. Her death shocked Petrarch, who made a note of it in his Virgil, which is now in the Ambrosian Library at Milan. " Laura, illustrious for her virtues, and for a long time celebrated in my verses, for the first time appeared to my eyes on the 6th of April, 1327, in the church of St. Clara, at the first liour of the day. I was then in my youth. In tlie same city, and at the same hour, in the year 134:8, this luminary disappeared from our world. I was then at Verona, ignorant of my wretched situation. Her chaste and beau- tiful body was buried the same day, after vespers, in the church of the Cordeliers. Her soul returned to her native mansion in Heaven. I have written this with a pleasure mixed with bitterness, to retrace the melanclioly remembrance of ' My Great Loss.' This loss convinces nie that I have nothing now left worth living for, since the strongest cord of my life is broken. By the grace of God I shall easily renounce a world where my hopes have been vain and perishing. It is time for lue to fly from Babylon, when tlie knot that bound uie to it is untied." There are many portraits of Laura, but none, I fancy, that can be relied upon as being authentic. The one that I have selected comes the nearest to the descriptions of her by Petrarch and his biographers. It is from Tomasini's "Petrarcha Redivivvs" — an old Latin work on the love of Petrarch and Laura, and is jiroliably a copy of the portrait painted by Simone of Sienna. So, at least, I gather from the rather obscure text. TO LAUPvA IN LIFE. HE CONFESSES THE VANITY OF HIS PASSION. Ye who in rhymes dispersed the echoes hear Of those sad sighs with which my heart I fed Wlien early yonth my mazy wanderings led, Fondly diverse from wliat I now ajjpear, Fluttering 'twixt frantic hope and frantic fear, From tliose by whom my various style is read, I hope, if e'er their hearts for love have bled, Not only pardon, but perhaps a tear. But now I clearly see that of mankind Lontr time I was the tale : whence bitter thought FRANCESCO PETRARCH. 13 And self-rep road 1 with frequent Ijlnshes teem: While of my frenzy, shame the fruit I find, And sad repentance, and the proof, dear-bought, That the world's joy is hut a flitting dream. CnARl.EMONT. HE BLAMES LOVE FOR WOUNDING HIM ON A HOLY DAY. Twas uu the morn, when heaven its blessed ray In pity to its sutfering master veiled. First did I, Lady, to your beauty yield, Of your victorious eyes th' unguarded prey. Ah ! little recked I that, on such a day, Needed against Love's arrows any shield ; And trod, securely trod, the fatal field : "Wlience, with the world's, began my lieart's dismay. On every side Love found his victim liare. And through mine eyes transfixed my throbbing lieart ; Those eyes which now \vith constant sorrows flow : But poor the triumph of his l)oasted nrt. Who thus could pierce a naked youth, nor dare To you in armour mailed even to display his l)Ow ! Wrangham. ON THE PORTRAIT OK LAURA, PAINTED BY SLMON MEMMI. Had Policletus seen her, or the rest Who, in past time, won honour in this art, A thousand years had but the meaner part Shown of the beauty which o'en^ame my breast. But Simon sure, in Paradise the blest. Whence came this noble lady of my heart. Saw her, and took this wondrous counterpart, Which should on earth her lovely face attest. The work, indeed, was one, in heaven alone To be conceived, not wrought by fellow-men, 14 LOVES AND HEROINES. Over whose souls the body's veil is thrown : 'Twas done of grace ; and failed his pencil when To earth he turned our cold and heat to bear, And felt that his own eyes but mortal were. Maogreooe. RKCOLLECTIONS OF LOVE. That winduw wliere my sua is often seen Refulgent, and the world's at morning hours ; And that where Boreas blows, when winter lowers, And the short days reveal a clouded scene ; That bench of stone, wliere, with a pensive mien, My Laura sits, forgetting beauty's powers ; Haunts where her shadow strikes the walls or flowers. And her feet press the paths or herbage green : Tlie place where Love assailed me with success ; And spring, the fatal time that, first observed. Revives the keen remembrance every year ; Witli looks and words, that o'er me have preserved A power no length of time can render less, Call to my eyes the sadly-soothing tear. Penn. HE IS BIOWILDKRED AT THE UNEXPKCTED AJJKIVAL OF LAURA. As Love his arts in haiints familiar tried, Watchful as one expecting waT is found, Who all foresees, and guards the passes round, I in the armour of old thoughts relied : Turning, I saw a shadow at my side Cast by the sun, whose outline on the ground I knew for hers, who (be my judgment sound) Deserves in bliss immortal to abide. I whispered to my heart, Nay, wherefore fear ? But scarcely did the thought arise within. FRANCESCO PETRARCH. 15 Than the bright rays in wliieh I burn were here. As thunders with the lightning-flash begin, So was I struck at once both blind and mute, By her dear dazzling eyes and sweet salute. Maogkegou. COULD UE BUT SEE TUB HOUSE OF LAURA, HIS SIGHS MIGHT REACH IIEK MORE QUICKLY. K, which our valley bars, this wall of stone. From which its present name wo closely trace, Were hj disdainful nature rased, and thrown Its back to Babel and to Rome its face : Then had my sighs a better pathway known To where their hope is yet in life and grace: They now go singly, yet my voice all own. And, where I send, not one but finds its place. There too, as I perceive, such welcome sweet They ever find, that none returns again. But still delightedly with her remain. My grief is from the eyes, each morn to meet — Not the fair scenes my soul so longed to see — Toil for my weary limbs and tears for me. Macgeegor. THOUGH HE IS UNHAPPY, HIS LOVE REMAINS EVER UNCILVNGED. My sixteenth year of sighs its course has run, I stand alone, already on the brow Where Age descends : and yet it seems as now My time of trial only were begun. 'Tis sweet to love, and good to be undone ; Though life be hard, more days may Heaven allow Misfortune to outlive ; else Death may l)ow The bright head low my loving praise that won. Here am I now, who fain would be elsewhere; 16 LOVES AND HEROINES. More would I wisli, and yet no more I would ; I could no more, and yet did all I could : And new tears born of old desires declare That still I am as I was wont to be, And that a thousand changes change not me. Maosrekor. TO THE FOUNTAIN OF VAUCLUSE CONTEMPLATIONS OF DEATH. Clear, fresh, and dulcet streams, Which the fair shape, who seems To me sole woman, haunted at noon-tide ; Fair bough, so gently fit, (I sigh to think of it,) Which lent a pillow to her lovely side ; And turf, and flowers bright-eyed, O'er which her folded gown Flowed like an angel's down ; And you, O holy air and hushed. Where first my heart at her sweet glances gushed ; Give ear, give ear, with one consenting. To my last words, my last and my lamenting. K 'tis my fate below. And Heaven will have it so. That Love nrast close these dying eyes in tears, May my poor dust be laid In middle of your shade. While my soul, naked, mounts to its own spheres. The thought would calm my fears, Wlien taking, out of breath. The doubtful step of death ; For never could my spirit find A stiller port after the stormy wind; Nor in more calm, abstracted bourne. Slip from my travailed flesh, and from my bones outworn. FKA.NCESL'O PETRARCH. 17 Perhaps, some future hour, To lier accustomed bower Mi-ht come the imtauied, and yet the gentle she; And wliore she saw me first, Might turn witli eyes athirst, And kinder joy to hjok again on me; Then, O the charity! Seeing amidst the stones The earth that iield my bones, A sigh for ^ery love at last Might ask of Heaven to pardon me the past: And Heaven itself could not say nay, As with her gentle veil she wiped the tears away. How well I call to mind. When from those boughs the wind Shook down upon her bosom flower on flower; And there she sat, meek-eyed. In midst of all that pride, Sprinkled and blushing through an amorous shower. Some to her hair paid dower, And seemed to dress the curls, Queenlike, with gold and pearls ; Some, snowing, on her drapery stopped. Some on the earth, some on tL water dropped; While others, fluttering from above. Seemed wheeling round in pomp, and saying, "Here reigns Love ! ' "^ How often then I said. Inward, and filled with dread, "Doubtless this ci-eature came from Paradise!" For at her look the while. Her voice, and her sweet smile. And heavenly air, truth parted from mine eves ; So that, with long-drawn sighs, 3 18 LOVES AND HEROINES. I said, as far from men, " How came I here, and wlien ? " I had forn-otten ; and alas ! Fancied myself in lieaAen, not where I was ; And from that time till this, I bear 8neh love for the green bower, I cannot rest elsewhere. Leigh Hunt. HE ENVIES EVERY SPOT THAT SHE FREQUENTS. O bi'ight and happy liowers and herbage blessed, On which my lady treads ! O favoured plain. That hears her accents sweet, and can retain The traces by her fairy steps impressed ! Pure shrubs, with tender verdure newly dressed, Pale amorous violets, leafy woods, whose reign Tliy sun's bright rays transpierce, and tliiis sustain Your lofty stature, and iimbrageous crest ; O thou, fair country, and thou, crystal stream. Which bathes her countenance and sjiarkling eyes, Stealing fresh lustre from tlicir living beam ; How do I envy thee those precious ties ! Thy rocty shores will soon be taught to gleam With the same flame that burns in all my sighs. Wkottesi.et. TO THE SUN, WHOSE SETflNG HID LAURA S DWELLING FROM HIS VIEW. O blessed Sun ! that sole sweet leaf I love. First loved by thee, in its fair seat, alone, Bloometh ■without a peer, since from above To Adam first our shining ill was shown. Pause we to look on her ! Although to stay Tliy course I pray thee, yet thy beams retire ; Tlieir shades the mountains fling, and parting day Parts me from all 1 most on earth desire. FRANUESUO PETRARCH. 19 The shadows from yon gentle heights that fall, Where sparkles my sweet fire, where brightly grew That stately laurel from a sucker small, Increasing, as I speak, hide from my view The beauteous landscape and the blessed scene. Where dwells my true heart with its only queen. Macgbeoor. TO I.OVE, ON I.AITEA WALKING ABROAD. Here stand we, Love, our glory to behold, IIow, passing Nature, lovely, high, and rare ! Behold ! what showers of sweetness falling there ! What floods of light by heaven to earth unrolled ! How shine her robes, in purple, pearls, and gold, So richly wrought, with skill l)eyond compare ! How glance her feet ! her beaming eyes how fair Through the dark cloister which these hills enfold ! The verdant turf, and flowers of thousand hues Beneath yon oak's old canopy of state, Spring round her feet to pay their amorous duty. Tlie heavens, in joyful reverence, cannot choose But light up all their fires, to celebrate Her praise, whose presence charms their awful beauty. Merivalb. HE LEAVES VAUCLUSE, BUT HIS SPIKIT REMAINS THERE WITH LAURA. The loved hills where I left myself behind. Whence ever 'twas so hard my steps to tear. Before me rise ; at each remove I bear The dear load to my lot by Love consigned. Often I wonder inly in my mind. That still the fair yoke holds me, which despair Would vainly break, that yet I breathe this air; Though long the chain, its links but closer l)ind. 20 LOVES AND HEROINES. And as a stag, sore struck by hunter's dart, Whose poisoned iron rankles in his breast, Flies, and more grieves the more the chase is pressed, So I, with Love's keen arrow in my heart. Endure at once my death and my delight, 'Racked with long grief, and weary with vain flight. Mauguegok. HEARING NO XrOINGS OF HKK, HE BEGINS TO DESPAIR. Still do I wait to hear, in vain still wait. Of that sweet enemy I love so well : Wliat now to think or say I cannot tell, 'Twixt hope and fear my feelings fluctuate. The beautiful are still the marks of fate ; And sure her worth and beauty most excel : What if her God have called her hence, to dwell Where virtue finds a more congenial state ? If so, she will illuminate that sphere Even as a sun : but I — 'tis done with me ! I then am nothing, have no business here ! O cruel absence ! why not let me see The worst ? My little tale is told, I fear ; My scene is closed ere it accomplished be. MOKEHEAD. TO LAURA IN DEATH. HE DESIRES TO DIE, THAT HIS SOUE MAY BE WITH HER, AS HIS THOUGHTS ALREADY ARE. E'en in youth's fairest flower, when Love's dear sway Is wont with strongest power our hearts to l)ind. Leaving on earth her fleshly veil behind. My life, my Laura, passed from me away ; Living, and fair, and free from our vile clay, FRANCESCO PETRARCH. 21 From heaven she rules supreme my willing mind : Alas ! why left me in this mortal rind Tliat first of peace, of sin that latest day ? As my fond thoughts her heavenward path pursue. So may my soul, glad, light, and ready be To follow her, and thus from troubles flee. Wliate'er delays me as worst loss I rue : Time makes me to myself but heavier grow : Death had been sweet to-day three years ago ! Macgeegor. HE PEAYS THAT SHE WILL BE NEAJE HIM AT HIS DEATH, WHICH HE FEELS APPKO ACHING. Go, plaintive verse, to tlie cold marble go, "Which hides in earth my treasure from these eyes, There call on her who answers from yon skies. Although the moi-tal part dwells dark and low. Of life how I am wearied make her know. Of stemming these dread waves that round me rise : But, copying all lier virtues I so prize, Her track I follow, yet my steps are slow. I sing of her, living or dead, alone, (Dead, did I say ? She is immortal made !) That by the woi-ld she should be loved, and known. O in my passage hence may she be near, To greet my coming that's not long delayed ; And may I hold in heaven the rank herself holds there ! NOTT. HE WOULD DIE OF GEIEF, -WEEE SHE NOT SOMETIMES TO CONSOLE HTM WITH HEE PEESENCE. To that soft look wliich now adorns the skies, The graceful bending of the radiant head, Tlie face, the sweet angelic accents fled, 22 LOVES AND HEROINES. That soothed me once, but now awake my sighs : when to these imagination flies, 1 wonder that I am not long since dead ! 'Tis she supports me, for her heavenly tread Is round my couch when morning visions rise ! In every attitude how hol3% chaste ! How tenderly she seems to hear the tale Of my long woes, and their relief to seek ! But when day breaks she then appears in haste The well-known heavenward 2>ath again to scale. With moistened eye and soft expressive cheek ! MOREHEAD. SINCE HEE DEATH HE HAS CEASED TO LIVE. Death cannot make tliat 1)eauteous face less fair. But that sweet face may lend to death a grace ; My spirit's guide, from her each good I trace ; Who learns to die, may seek his lesson there. That Holy One, wlio not his blood would spare. But did the dark Tartarean l)olts unbrace; He, too, doth from my soul death's terrors chase : Tlien welcome, death, thy impress I would wear. And linger not, 'tis time that I had fled; Alas ! my stay hath little here availed, Since she, my Laura blest, resigned her breath : Life's spring in me hath since that hour lain dead. In I her lived, my life in hei-s exhaled. The hour she died I felt within me death ! WoU.ASTON. TORQUATO TASSO. 1 644—1595. LEONORA. Eaelt in the autumn of 15G5, Tasso left the University of Bologna, where lie had heen for three years, studying poeti-y and jihilosophy, to enter the service of Cardinal Luigi d'Este, who was at that time in Ferrara. lie arrived at Ferrara in Octoher, mid found the city alive with prejiarations for the approacliing marriage of Duke Alphonso the Second with the Archduchess Barbara of Austria, daughter of the Emperor Ferdinand tlie First. The appearance of the hride elect, on the 31st of Octoher, ushered in a series of magnificent entertainments, balls, tournaments, etc., which lasted an entire week. We are not told what part Tasso took in them (it could scarcely have been a prominent one, he was so newly arrived at court), Init we know that it appealed strongly to his imagina- tion, ever on the alert for the pictures