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Per la Nascita de Primogenito de Piemonte.
Dolce Nipote, ne tornarmi a quella “ Vidi l' Italia col crin sparso e incolto,
Poter lusinghe mai d' aura seconda.
Eppur si fiero turbo anco alla sponda Cola dove la Dora in Po declina,
Il legno, che m'accolse, urta, e flagella, Che sedea mesta, e avea negli occhi accolto
Ne a placar l'atro nembo io veggio stella, Quasi un 'orror di servitu vicina:
Che in tanta notte un raggio almen diffonda. Ne l' altera piangea ; serbava un volto Di dolente bensi, ma di Reina;
Occupa pur tu fortemente il porto;
Innocenza e Virtu trarranne in parte, Tal forse apparve allor, che il pie discolto
Ove avrem d'ogni mal fine, e conforto; A ceppi offri la liberta Latina.
E un di schernendo i furor vani, ho speme, Poi sorger lieta in un balen la vidi,
Che salve all'ara appese antenne e sarte, E fiera ricomporsi al fasto usato,
Sulle tempeste rideremo insieme." E quinci, e quindi minacciar pui Lidi;
P. SAVERIO BETTINELLI. E s'udia l'Appennin per ogni lato Sonar d'applausi, e di festosi gridi,
“I, sweet niece, was the first of our blood Italia, Italia il tuo soccorso e nato!”
who fled from the treacherous waves and EustachIO MANFREDI. Bolognese.
tempest of life; nor could the flattering “On the spot where the Douro falls into appearance of favourable gales ever tempt the Po, I saw the dishevelled and unkempt me to try them again ; and yet though I Italy, sitting in deep sorrow; she had in her have escaped, still does the storm, beating eyes a horror of impending slavery,--not on the beach, dash daily against the sides of that the proud one shed a tear. Sorrow in- the vessel in which I was ; nor amidst so deed was in her countenance, but it was the deep a night do I discover a single star sorrow of a Queen ; such perhaps she ap- whose benign ray may assist to weather the peared in ancient Latium, when, bare of foot, fierce storm. Make you then strongly for she came forward to have her fetters put the shore. Innocence and Virtue will help on. But I saw her in an instant rise joyful draw to land, where we shall find comfort from her seat, resume her ancient state and and the end of every ill. There, our sails threaten the nations on one side of her and and cables safe at length, and appended to on the other, and the Apennines shouted the altar, I have hope that we may one day through their thousand echoes, Italy, Italy! | laugh together at the impotence of the temthy Saviour is born."
pest." Maty says, “ the author of this, Eustachio Manfredi, seems to show even here
“ ITALIA, Italia, o tu, cui feo la sorte that he is of a family of mathematicians, for
Dono infelice di bellezza, onde hai there is not a proposition of Euclid in which
Funesta dote d'infiniti guai, step follows step more methodically than
Che in fronte scritti per gran doglia porte, they do in this sonnet.” He adds, “I did
Deli fossi tu men bella, o almen piu forte, not dare to render the 'pie disciolto,' be
Onde assai piu ti paventassi, o assai cause, however classical the idea to express slavery, the naked foot would have present. Par che si strugga, e pur ti sfida a morte
Tamasse men chi del tuo bello a i rai ed a disgusting picture to the English reader, who might have sent the dirty wench Che or giu d'all' Alpi no vedrei torrenti
Scender d'armati, ne di sangue tinta to put on her stockings.”
Bever l'onda del Po Gallici armenti;
Ne te vedrei del non tuo ferro cinta Nella Monazzione di una sua Nipote. Pugnar col braccio di straniere genti “ Io del secol fuggii la perfid' onda,
Per servir sempre o vincitrice, o vinta." Primo del sangue nostro, e la procella,
“O Italy, Italy, gifted by fate with an unhappy gift of beauty, from whence thou hast
Epitaphs. a deadly dower of miseries, whose marks “ Drae near my friends and have A ni thou still bearest on thy forehead; oh, that
be now so once was i
Upham. they are attempting thy life. Then should we not behold torrents of hostile squadrons roll down thy Alps, nor Gallic herds drink
“ We were not slayne, but raysd, ing by thy ensanguined Po. Then should Raysd not to life, we not see thee girt with a sword not thine But to be buried twice own, and shooting thine arrows from a fo
By men of strife. reign bow, to be still a slave at the end of What rest could living have the day, whether victor or vanquished.”
When dead had none ?
Agree amongst you, “Dov'è, Italia, il tuo braccio? e a chi ti servi Here we ten are one." Tu dell
' altrui ? non è, s' io scorgo il vero, Henry Rogers died Aprill 17, 1641. Di chi t'offende il diffensor men fero;
Christchurch. Ambo nemici sono, ambo fur servi :Cosi dunque l'onor, cosi conservi Gli avanzi tu del glorioso impero ?
Of this I heard two traditionary explaCosi al valor, cosi al valor primiero,
nations, neither of them satisfactory, and
each destroying all the authority of the Che a te fede giuro, la fede asservi? Or va! repudia il valor prisco, e sposa
other. That the ten men were killed by the L'Ozio, e fra il sangue, i gemiti, e le strida falling in of the earth in a gravel pit, and Nel periglio maggior dormi, e riposa :
dug out to be buried. This the first line Dormi adultera vil, fin che omicida
contradicts; and, if true, what means the
fourth ? That they were ten royalists, Spada ultrice ti svegli, e sonnachiosa E nuda in braccio al tuo fedel t'uccida."
whose bones were dug up by Cromwell. FILICAIA.
The single name then at the end is strange.
“ One" must mean unanimous. The last “Italy, where is thine own right arm, and solution is possible ; but I believe the howherefore dost thou use a stranger's ? If I nour of digging up his dead enemies was remember me right, he who defends thee is reserved for the worthy Charles II. not less a barbarian than he who attacks thee. Both are thine enemies, both have been thy slaves. Thus then it is that thou
“ Here I lie all putrefaction bethinkest thee of thy past illustrious story!
Waiting for the resurrection." thus thou maintainest thine honour, and this is the remembrance thou hast of thy pledged faith to the valiant genius of old
Petition of the London Wives. Latium! Go then, divorce thee from that “ In this parliament (1428) there was one honored husband-marry sloth; and amidst Mistris Stokes, with divers others stout blood, groans, and the noise of arrows hiss- women of London, of good reckoning, welling round thee, sleep on and repose in apparrelled, came openly to the upper pargreater danger than before :-vile adulte- | liament and delivered letters to the Duke ress, sleep on, till the avenging sword awake of Glocester, and to the archbishops, and and slay thee, naked and drowsy, in the to the other lords there present, containing arms of thy new beloved."
matter of rebuke and sharpc reprehension of the Duke of Glocester, because he would “ We lived together as you did see to die not deliver his wife, Jacqueline, out of her Together that will be never yet in and grievous imprisonment, being then helde Thro' Christ we hope to live for ever prysoner by the Duke of Burgondy, suffer- From sudden death Good Lord deliver me ing her there to remain so unkindly, and for Yet sudden death we hope did set our sister his publike keeping by him another adul- free."-Ch. Church. tresse, contrary to the law of God, and the honourable estate of matrimony."—EDMUND Howes.
In a church yard, about five miles from There are many curious particulars in Monmouth, on the Chepstow road :this man's history. I have never (that I
“ ON SOME CHILDREN. remember) seen him quoted, or heard his
“ SLEEP soft in dust, wait the Almighty's name. He wrote under Elizabeth, James and Charles; and acknowledges obligations Then rise again and be as angels still."
Which hard it were to find such another.
Whose limbs lie here, her soul to God is
flown." “A DE tel forfaits celui qui détourne ses regards est un lâche, un déserteur de “I LABOUR'd hard in this world la justice ; la véritable humanité les envi- But 'twas no gain to me, sage, pour les connoître, pour les juger, I hope my child and I will gain eternity." pour les détester.”—LE LEVITE D'EPHRAIM. This the motto for my war poems.
“ A TENDER father, a mother dear,
It was pale-faced death that brought us
hither. “ The year rolls on and steals away
We lived in love-let us lie together. The breath that first it gave,
So here we lie by our dear babes Whate'er we do, where'er we be,
All covered with cold clay, We're travelling to the grave.' Hoping with joy to meet our Lord Winnessley, Monmouthshire.
At the eternal day.”
" At the ester end of this free
Ch. Ch. 1691.
She was both meek and mild ;
He took both wife and child."
"I find by HEARNE that he published it from Stowe's papers, and that it bears Stowe's name.-Sept. 2, 1798.-R. S. The work is thus quoted in Watt's Biblioth. Britan. “Annales; or a General Chronicle of England, began by John Stow, continued to the end of the year 1631. Lond. 1631, fol.”-J. W. W.
“ HERE lies a woman
By all the good esteemed
Really what she seem'd.”
" For Jesus' sake in his most blessed name Amid the irksome solitude of crowds,
And with the unmeaning look of gaiety Do not remove this stone, nor yet disturb Hide the heart's fullness. It is very hard this grave."
When Memory's eye turns inward on the
form 56 FAREWELL dear babes ; to dust we you Of one she loves, to waken from the dream, resign,
As all unpitying on the suffering ear
That thy meek spirit must endure all this
Most profitably past whose song may bring
Brief solace. Thou would'st know what “ Un ruisseaux tire des eaux pures
cares employ mais il est troublé d'abord qu'il The morn, and whither is the noon-tide walk passe par dessus les bords de son canal.”
And what the evening sports of him, who Oriental Maxim. A good simile applied to economy. And noon and night fills up
I know these longings well; and I would “ In winter the trees remind us of skele
fain tons." _W. SMELLIE.
Sketch the rude outline that Affection's hand
Will love to perfect, as her magic gives UNBELIEVERS to a man who stops his
Soul to the picture. When at morn he seeks ears in a thunder-storm for fear.-Koran,
The echoing ocean's verge, she best can feel v. 1. p. 4.
What feelings swell within the enthusiast's Cool sound of wind—to the rain falling
breast, on the tree that shelters the summer tra
As o'er the grey infinity of waves veller.
His eye reposes, as the gathered surge Clinging to religion—to the volutella. Bursts hollow on his ear, then rolling back “Oh! woe to thee when doubt comes on!
Yields to a moment's silence, while the foam it blows over thee like a wind from the Left by the billow, as it melts away, north, and makes all thy joints to quake.” Shakes in the wind trembling with rainbow From a quaint piece, in the Selections
hues. from Foreign Journals, taken from the
She best can tell, when at the noon-tide hour Tcutsche Museum, entitled—“ That a man
Beside the brook he bends, the wrinkled can do whatever he will, is something more
brook than a mere matter of speculation;" by John Rolling light shadows o'er its bedded sand, PETER CRAFT.
What thoughts of quietness arise, whatscenes
As the low murmuring of the pleasant stream
Makes sweetest music, such as in the heart Burton, September 1st. 1797. Of one made hard by suffering till he bates “ A WEARYING thing it is to waste the day
Mankind with deadliest loathing, might
awake Among the biped herd; to walk alone
Feelings that fill the eye. She reads his soul I Sophia Pemberton, afterwards married to
When from the high hill top, the dark high his friend Charles Lloyd.-J. W. W.
That from the water'd vale abrupt and bare With such slow wasting as had made the
mirth The setting sun empurples, and the sea We held our way, and with that idle talk Whose leaden greyness to the baffled sight That passes o'er the mind and is forgot Seems mingling with the sky. Affection We wore away the time. But it was eve there
When homewardly I went, and in the air Will blend her own identity with his Was that cool freshness, that discolouring And live in his sensations.
I would tell That makes the eye turn inward ; then I From the damp eve retiring how we draw heard Around the cheerful light, but that the group Over the vale the heavy toll of death Are strangers, and Sophia scarce has heard Sound slow, and questioned of the dead Her name, in whom my heart has centred all again. Its dearest feelings, all its earthly hopes, It was a very plain and simple tale ! My Edith. I am little prone to trust She bore, unhusbanded, a mother's name, Expectance now, for many wrongs have And he who should have cherished her, far
wrought That wisdom in me which in earlier youth Sailed on the seas, self-exiled from his home, Youth-like I made my mock: and now I bear For he was poor. Left thus, a wretched one, A shield from whose impervious adamant Scorn made a mock of her, and evil tongues The poison'd darts of disappointment fall Were busy with her name. With feather weakness. Yet that heart ad.
She had yet one ill mits
Heavier, neglect,forgetfulness from him One hope, "a rebel to its own resolves." Whom she had loved so dearly. Once he And to its full and perfect happiness
wrote, Expects from yours addition ; when the song But only once that drop of comfort came That tells of home and all its nameless joys To mingle with her cup of wretchedness, Shall with the most intense delight pervade And when his parents had some tidings from Sophia's heart, and fill her eye with tears, him, As gazing round she feels those joys her There was no mention of poor Hannah there. own.
R. S. Or 'twas the cold enquiry, bitterer
Than silence : so she pined and pined away, Hannah.
And for herself and baby toiled and toiled
Till she sunk with very weakness. Her old THE COFFIN as I crossed the common lane mother Came sudden on my view. It was not here Omitted no kind office, and she worked A sight of every day, as in the streets Most hard, and with hard working barely Of the great city, and we paused and asked earned Who to the grave was going. It was one, Enough to make life struggle. Thus she lay A village girl; they told us she had borne On the sick bed of poverty, so worn An eighteen months' strange illness ; pined That she could make no effort to express away
Affection for her infant, and the child
Whose lisping love perhaps had solaced her, It has been thought right to insert this here. With strangest infantine ingratitude It is the original draft of the Hannah in the
Shunned her as one indifferent. She was English Eclogues, from which it differs consi. derably. See Poems in one volume, p. 152.
past J. W. W. That anguish, for she felt her hour draw on,