logue with the kindred soul of St. Augustin, he pours forth the fulness of his heart with all the sincerity of nature and of genius. No two clerical characters seem to have been endowed by nature with more exquisite sensibilities than the African bishop and the priest of Provence. In the midst of his triumph his thoughts wandered away to the fardistant object of his affection; and his mind was at Vaucluse while the giddy throng of his admirers showered garlands and burnt incense around his person. He fondly pictured to himself the secret pride which the ladye of his love would perhaps feel in hearing of his fame; and the laurel was doubly dear to him, because it recalled her cherished name. The utter hopelessness of his passion seemed to shed an undefinable hallowedness over the sensations of his heart; and it must have been in one of those moments of tender melancholy that he penned the following graceful, but mysterious narrative of a supposed or real apparition. Sonetto. Una candida cerva sopra l' erba Verde m' apparve con duo corna d'oro Era sua vista sì dolce superba, Ch' i' lasciai per seguirla ogni lavoro; "NESSUN MI TOCCHI," al bel collo d' intorno Ed era 'l sol già volto al mezzo giorno Gli occhi miei stanchi di mirar, non sasi The Vision of Petrarca. A form I saw with secret awe-nor ken I what it warns ; Gold I beheld and emerald on the collar that she wore ; The sun had now with radiant brow climbed his meridian throne, broken. The spell was Then came distress-to the consciousness of life I had awoken! Still, the soul of Petrarca was at times accessible to sterner impressions. The call of patriotism never failed to find a responsive echo in the breast of Italy's most distinguished son; and when, at the death of Benedict XII., which occurred at this juncture, there arose a favourable chance of serving his country, by restoring the papal residence to the widowed city of Rome, he eagerly offered himself as one of the deputies to proceed to Avignon for the accomplishment of this wished-for consummation. Whether a secret anxiety to revisit the scene of his early affections, and to enjoy once more the presence of his mistress, may have mixed itself up with the aspirations of patriotism, it would not be easy to decide; but he entered into the project with all the warmth of a devoted lover of Italy. His glorious dithyramb to that delightful, but conquered and divided land, so often quoted, translated, and admired, is sufficient evidence of his sentiments: but he has taken care to put the matter beyond doubt in his vigorous pamphlet, "De Libertate capessendâ Exhortatio ad Nicolaum Laurentium." This "Nicholas" was no other than the famous tribune Cola Rienzi, who, mainly excited by the prose as well as the poetry of Petrarca, raised the standard of independence against the petty tyrants of the Eternal City in 1345, and for a brief space rescued it from thraldom. Poetry is the nurse of freedom. From Tyrtæus to Béranger, the Muse has befriended through every age the cause of liberty. The pulse of patriotism never beats with bolder throb than when the sound of martial song swells in the full chorus of manly voices; and it was in a great measure the rude energy of the "Marseillaise" that won for the ragged and shoeless_grenadiers of the Convention the victories of Valmy and Jemmappe. In our own country, Dibdin's navai odes, full of inspiriting thought and sublime imagery, have not a little contributed to our maintaining in perilous times the disputed empire of the ocean against Napoleon. Never was a pension granted with more propriety than the tribute to genius voted in this case at the recommendation of George III.; and I suppose a similar reward has attended the authors of the "Mariners of England," and "The Battle of Copenhagen." As we have come insensibly to the topic of maritime minstrelsy, I imagine that a specimen of the stuff sung by the Venetian sailors, at the time when that Queen of the Adriatic reigned over the waters, may not be uninteresting. The subject is the naval victory which, at the close of the sixteenth century, broke the colossal power of the Sublime Porte; for which occurrence, by the by, Europe was mainly indebted to the exertions of Pope Pius V. and the prowess of one Miguel Cervantes, who had a limb shattered in the mélée. Barzelletta da cantar per la Vittoria di Lepanto. Cantiam tutti allegramente, Cantiam tutti allegramente, Cantiam tutti allegramente, Cantiam, putti! allegramente, Fù il fracasso-o Turchi! degni Cantiam pur allegramente, Cantiam tutti allegramente; Cantiam tutti allegramente, Cantiam tutti allegramente; A A Popular Ballad on the Battle of Lepanto. Let us sing how the boast of the Saracen host In the gulf of Lepanto was scattered, When each knight of St. John's from his cannon of bronze Oh! we taught the Turks then that of Europe the men And that still o'er the main float the galleys of Spain, Quick we made the foe skulk, as we blazed at each hulk, And the rest of them fled o'er the waters, blood red And our navy gave chase to the infidel race, Nor allowed them a moment to rally; And we forced them at length to acknowledge our strength In the trench, in the field, in the galley! Then our men gave a shout, and the ocean throughout Galeottes eighty-nine of the enemy's line To our swift-sailing ships fell a capture: - To at least sixty thousand amounted ;- We may well feel elate; though I'm sorry to state, Full atonement was due for each man that they slew, But could all that we'd kill give a son to Castile, Or to Malta a brave cavalhéro ? St. Mark for the slain intercedes not in vain There's a mass at each altar in Venice; And the saints we implore for the banner they bore Are Our Lady, St. George, and St. Denis. For the brave while we grieve, in our hearts they shall live— And again and again we will boast of the men Who have humbled the pride of the Crescent. The Venetians have been ever remarkable for poetic taste; and the very humblest classes of society amongst them exhibit a fondness for the great masters of their native language, and a familiarity with the glorious effusions of the national genius, quite unknown in the corresponding rank of tradesmen and artisans in England. Goldoni, who wrote in their own dialect, knew the sort of critics he had to deal with and it is a fact that the most formidable judges of dramatic excellence at the theatres of Venice were the gondoliers. Addison, or rather Isaac Bickerstaff, tells us a droll story about a certain trunkmaker, who stationed himself in the gallery of Drury Lane, and with a whack of his oaken cudgel ratified the success or confirmed the downfal of each new tragic performance. I think the author of the Spectator" must have had the original hint of that anecdote during his stay at Venice, where such a verdict from such a quarter was a matter of habitual occurrence. There is great delicacy of feeling and polish of expression in the following ingenious popular barcarolle of Venetian origin:Barcarolle. 66 Oh pescator dell' onda, Fidelin, Vieni pescar in quà Colla bella sua barca. Colla bella se ne va, Che cosa vuol ch' io peschi? L'anel che m' è casca, Sta borsa ricama, Nè borsa ricama, Io vo un basin d'amore, Che quel mi paghera, "Prithee, young fisherman, come over Hither thy light bark bring; Row to this bank, and try recover My treasure-'tis a ring!" The fisher-boy of Como's lake His bonny boat soon brought her, And promised for her beauty's sake To search beneath the water. "I'll give thee," said the ladye fair, "A hundred sequins I'll refuse Lady, that you can give!" The ring was found beneath the Nor need my lay record |