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Wo is me,

6. Los Moros que el son oyeron, Que al sangriento Marte lama, Uno a uno, y dos a dos, Un gran esquadron formavan.

Ay de mi, Alhama !

Alli habld un Moro viejo;
Desta manera hablava :-
Para que nos llamas, Rey ?
Para que es este llamada ?

Ay de mi, Alhama !

Aveys de saber, amigos,
Una nueva desdichada :
Que Christianos, con braveza,
Ya nos han tomado Alhama.

Ay de mi, Alhama !

9. Alli habld un viejo Alfaqui, De barba crecida y cana Bien se te emplea, buen Rey, Buen Rey; bien se te empleava.

Ay de mi, Alhama!

Then the Moors by this awaro
That bloody Mars recalld them thore
One by one, and two by two,
To a mighty squadron grew.

Alhama !

7. Out then spake an aged Moor In theso words the king before, * Wherefore call on us, oh King? What may mean this gathering ?"

Wo is me, Alhama

8. "Friends! ye have, alas! to know Of a most disastrous blow, That the Christians, stern and bold, Have obtain'd Alhama's hold."

Wo is me, Alhama !

Mataste los Bencerrages,
Que era ia flor de Granada;
Cogiste los tornadizos
De Cordova la nombrada.

Ay de mi, Alhama!

Por esso mereces, Rey,
Una pene bien doblada ;
Que te pierdas tu y el

reyno, Y que se pierda Granada.

Ay de mi, Alhama!

Si no se respetan leyes,
Es ley que todo se pierda ;
Y que se pierda Granada,
Y que te pierdas en ella.

Ay de mi, Alhama !

Fuego por los ojos vierte,
El Rey que esto oyera.
Y como el otro de leyes
De leyes tambien hablava.

Ay de mi, Alhama !

Sabe un Roy que no ay leyes
De darle a Reyes disgusto.-
Esso dize el Rey Moro
Relinchando de colera.

Ay de mi, Alhama !

Moro Alfaqui, Moro Alfaqui,
El de la vellida barba,
El Rey te manda prender,
Por la perdida de Alhama.

Ay do mi, Alhama!

16. Y cortarte la cabeza, Y ponerla en el Alhambra, Por que a ti castigo sea, y otros tiemblen en miralla.

Ay de mi, Alhama !

9. Out then spake old Alfaqui, With his beard so white to see, "Good King! thou art justly served, Good King this thou hast deserved.

Wo is me, Alhama !

10. * By thee were slain, in evil hour, The Abencerrage, Granada's flower ; And strangers were received by thee or Cordova the Chivalry.

Wo is ine, Alhama !

11. * And for this, oh King! is seni. On thee a double chastisement : Thee and thine, thy crown and realm, One last wreck shall overwhelm.

Wo is me, Alhama !

12. "He who holds no laws in awe, He must perish by the law; And Granada must be won. And thyself with her undone.”

Wo is me, Alhama !

13. Fire flash'd from out the old Moor's eyes The Monarch's wrath began to rise, Because he answer'd, and because He spake exceeding well of laws.

Wo is


Alhama !

14. * There is no law to say such things As may disgust the ear of kings:"Thus, snorting with his choler, said The Moorish King, and doom'd him dead.

Wo is me, Alhama !

15. Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui! Though thy beard so hoary be, The King hath sent to have thee scized For Alhama's loss displeased,

Wo is mo, Alhania!

And to fix thy head upon
High Alhambra's loftiest stone ;
That this for thee should be the law,
And others tremble when they saw.

Wo is me, Alhama.

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Soneva posto in nome di un genitore, a cui era morta poco innanzi Sonnet composed in the name of a father whose daughter had receniny nos appena maritata; diretto al genitore della macra spos.

died shortly after her marriage ; and addressed to the falner of her whn had lately taken the veil.

Di que vaylo donzelle, oneste, accorte

Lieti miseri padri il ciel ne feo,
Il ciel, che degne di più nobil sorte

L'una e l'altra veggendo, ambo chiedeo. La mia fu tolta da veloce inorte

A le fumanti tede d'imeneo:
La tua, Francesco, in sugellate porte
Eterna prigioniera or si rendeo.
Ma tu almeno potrai de la gelosa

Irremeabil soglia, ove s' asconde,

La sua tenera udir voce pietosa. lo verso un fiume d'amarissim'onda,

Corro a quel marmo, in cui la figlia or posa Batto, e ribatto, ma nessun risponde.

of two fair virgins, modest, though admired,

Heaven made us happy; and now, wretched sirus, Heaven for a nobler doom their worth desires,

And gazing upon either, both required.
Mine, while the torch of Hymen newly fired

Becomes extinguish'd, soon-too soon-expires :
But thine, within the closing grate retired,

Eternal captive, to her God aspires.
But thou at least from out the jealous door,

Which shuts between your never-meeting eyes,

May'st hear her sweet and pious voice once more I to the marble where my daughter lies,

Rush,—the swoln flood of bitterness I pour
And knock, and knock, and knock-bui none replies.



What do not yet the red-hot ploughshares burn.
O’er which you stumble in a false ordeal,

And deem this proof of loyalty the read;
Oh Venice ! Venice! when thy marble walls

Kissing the hand that guides you to your scars,
Are level with the waters, there shall be

And glorying as you tread the glowing bars ?
A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls,

All that your sires have left you, all that Time
A loud lanient along the sweeping sea !

Bcqueaths of free, and History of sublime,
If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee,

Spring from a different theme !-Ye see and readh What should thy sons do ?-any thing but weep: Admire and sigh, and then succumb and bleed! And yet they only murmur in their sloep.

Save the few spirits, who, despite of all, In contrast with their fathers as the slime,

And worse than all, the sudden crimes engender'd The dull green ooze of the receding deep,

By the down-thundering of the prison-wall, Is with the dashing of the springuide foam

And thirst to swallow the sweet waters tender'd, That drives the sailor shipless to his home,

Gushing from Freedom's fountains—when the crewd, Are they to those that were ; and thus they creep, Madden'd with centuries of drought, are loud, Crouching and crab-like, through their sapping streets.

And trample on each other to obtain
Oh! agony—that centuries should reap
No mellower harvest! Thirteen hundred years

The cup which brings oblivion of a chain

Heavy and sore,—in which long yoked they plough'd of wealth and glory turn'd to dust and tears ;

The sand, or if there sprung the yellow grain, And every monument the stranger meets,

'T was not for them, their necks were too much bowd, Church, palace, pillar, as a mourner greets;

And their dead palates chew'd the cud of pain :And even the Lion all subdued appears,

Yes! the few spirits—who, despite of deeds
And the harsh sound of the barbarian drum,

Which they abhor, confound not with the cause
With duil and daily dissonance, repeats
The echo of thy tyrant's voice along

Those momentary starts from Nature's laws,

Which, like the pestilence and earthquake, smite
The soft waves, once all musical to song,
That heaved beneath the moonlight with the throng

But for a term, then pass, and leave the earth

With all her seasons to repair the blight ng gondolas—and to the busy hum

With a few summers, and again put forth of cheerful creatures, whose most sinful deeds

Cities and generations—fair, when free
Were but the overbeating of the heart,

For, Tyranny, there blooms no bud for thee!
And flow of too much happiness, which needs
'The aid of age to turn its course apart
From the luxuriant and voluptuous flood
Of sweet sensations, battling with the blood.

Glory and Empire! once upon these towers
But these are better than the gloomy errors,

With Freedom-godlike Triad! how ye sate! l'he weeds of nations in their last decay,

The league of mightiest nations, in those hours When Vice walks forth with her unsoften'd terrors,

When Venice was an envy, might abate, And Mirth is madness, and but smiles to slay ;

But did not quench, her spirit—in her fate And Hope is nothing but a false delay,

All were enwrapp'd: the feasted monarchs know The sick man's lightning half an hour ere death,

And loved their hostess, nor could learn to hale, When Faintness, the last mortal birth of Pain,

Although they humbled-with the kingly few And apathy of linb, the dull beginning

The many felt, for from all days and climes Of the cold staggering race which Death is winning,

She was the voyager's worship ;-even her crimes Steals vein by vein and pulse by pulse away

Were of the softer order-born of Love, Yet so relieving the o'er-tortured clay,

She drank no blood, nor fattend on the dead, To him appears renewal of his breath,

But gladden'd where her harmless conquests spread; And freedom the mere numbness of his chain;

For these restored the Cross, that from above And then he talks of life, and how again

Hallow'd her sheltering banners, which incessant He feels his spirits soaring-albeit weak,

Flew between earth and the unholy Crescent, And of the fresher air, which he would seek;

Which, if it waned and dwindled, Earth may thank And as he whispers knows not that he

The city it has clothed in chains, which clauk

gasps, That his thin finger feels not what it clasps,

Now, creaking in the ears of those who owe
And so the film comes o'er him—and the dizzy

The name of Freedoni to her glorious siruggles;
Chamber swims round and round and shadows busy, Yet she but shares with them a common wo,
At which he vainly catches, flit and gleam,

And call'd the kingdom" of a conquering foe,–
Till the last rattle chokes the strangled stream,

But knows what all — and, most of all

, we knowAnd all is ice and blackness,--and the earth

With what set gilded terms a tyrant juggles ! That which it was the moment ere our birth.

The name of Commonwealth is past and gone There is no hope for nations !-Search the pago O'er the three fractions of the groaning globo; Of many thousand years—the daily scene,

Venice is crush'd, and Holland deigns to owu The flow and ebb of each recurring age,

A sceptre, and endures the purple robe ;
The everlasting to be which hath been,

If the free Switzer yet bestrides alone
Hath taught us naught or little: still we lean His chainless mountains, 't is but for a time,
On things that rot beneath our weight, and wear For tyranny of late is cunning grown,
Our strength away in wrestling with the air ;

And in its own good season tramples down
For 't is our nature strikes us down: the beasts The sparkles of our ashes. One great clime,
Slaughter'd in hourly hecatombs for feasts

Whose vigorous offspring by dividing ocean
Are of as high an order--they must go

Are kept apart and nursed in the devotion
Even where their driver goads them, though to slaughter. Of Freedom, which their fathers fought for, and
Ye mer, who pour your blood for kings as water, Bequeath'da heritage of heart and hand,
What have they given your children in return? And proud distinction from each other land,
A heritage of servitude and woes,

Whose sons must bow them at a monarch's mouon,
A blindfold bondage, whore your hire is blows. As if his senseless sceptre were a wand



Full of the negic of explodal science

Through thousand lazy channels in our veins, Still one great clime, in full and free defiance,

Damm'd like the dull canal with locks and chains, Yet rears her crest, unconquer'd and sublime,

And moving, as a sick man in his sleep, Above the far Atlantic!-She has taught

Three paces, and then faltering better be Her Esau-brethren that the haughty flag,

Where the extinguish'd Spartans still are free,
The floating fence of Albion's feebler crag,

In their proud charnel of Thermopylæ,
May strike to those whose red right hands have bought Than stagnate in our marsh,-or o'er tho doep
Rights cheaply earn'd with blood.-Still, still, for over Fly, and one current to the ocean add,
Better, though each man's life blood were a river, One spirit to the souls our fathers had,
That it should flow, and overflow, than creep

One freeman more, America, to thee !


Note 1, page 184.

cinder says, “I burn for thee;" a bunch of Aowers (ied

with hair, " Take me and fly;" but a pebble declares Written after swimming from Sestos to Abydos. what nothing else can. On the 3d of May, 1810, while the Salsette (Captain Bathurst) was lying in the Dardanelles, Lieutenant

Note 4, page 185, line 33. Ekenhead of that frigate, and the writer of these

Though I fly to Islambol. rhymes, swam from the European shore to the Asiatic

Constantinople. -by-the-by, from Abydos to Sestos would hav, been niore correct. The whole distance from the place

Note 5, page 185, line 55. whence we started to our landing on the other side, including the length we were carried by the current,

And the seven-hill'd city seeking. was computed by those on board the frigate at upwards Constantinople. « Επτάλοφος.of four English miles ; though the actual breadth is barely one. The rapidity of the current is such that

Note 6, page 196, line 49. no boat can row directly across, and it may in some measure be estimated from the circumstance of the

Turning rivers into blood. whole distance being accomplished by one of the par- See Rev. chap. viii. verse 7, &c. “The first angel ties in an hour and five, and by the other in an hour sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled wil! and ten, minutes. The waier was extremely cold from blood,” &c. the melling of the mountain snows. About three weeks Verse 8. “And the second angel sounded, and as !! before, in April, we had made an attempt, but having were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into ridden all the way from the Troad the same morning, the sea; and the third part of the sea became blood!," and the water being of an icy chilness, we found it Verse 10. " And the third angel sounded, and there necessary to postpone the completion till the frigate fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp: anchored below the castles, when we swam the straits, and it fell upon the third part of the rivers, and upur. as just stated; entering a considerable way above the the fountains of waters." Euronean, and landing below the Asiatic, fort. Che- Verse 11. "Aud the name of the star is called Wormvalier says that a young Jew swam the same distance i wood: and the third part of the waters became wormfor his mistress; and Oliver mentions its having been wood; and many men died of the waters, because they done by a Neapolitan; but our consul, Tarragona, re- were made bitter." membered neither of these circumstances, and tried to dissuade us from the attempt. A number of the

Note 7, page 196, line 65. Salsette's crew were known to have accomplished a greater distance; and the only thing that surprised me

Whose realm refused thee even a tomb. was, that, as doubts had been entertained of the truth Murat's remains are said to have been corn from the of Leander's story, no traveller had ever endeavoured grave and burnt. lo ascertain its practicability.

Note 8, page 197, line 20.
Note 2, page 185.

Blessing him they served so well.
Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ.

" At Waterloo one man was seen, whose left arm

was shattered by a cannon ball, to wrench it off with Zoé mmi, sas agapn, or Zún now, ods dynaw, a Ro- the other, and throwing it up in the air, exclaimed 10 avaic expression of tenderness: if I translate it, I shall his comrades, 'Vive l'Empereur, jusqu'à la mort ! affront the gentlemen, as it may seem that I suppose There were many other instances of the like; this you they could not; and if I do not, I may affront the ladies. inay, however, depend on as true.”- A private Letter For fear of any misconstruction on the part of the latter from Brussels. I shall do so, begging pardon of the learned. It means, My life, I love you!" which sounds very prettily in all

Note 9, page 197, line 65. anguages, and is as much in fashion in Greece ai this day as, Juvenal tells us, the two first words were among

of three bright colours, cach divine.
the Roman ladies, whose exotic expressious were all The tri-colour.

Note 10, page 196, line 14.
Nou 3, pago !øj, line ..

Lemien ! the e numer are in thy of thy shure.
By all the loken-flowers that rell.

Geneva, Ferney, Coppet, Lausanne. In the East (where ladies are not taught to write,

Note 11, page 200, line 126. est they should scribble assignations) Rowers, cinders, ebbles, &c. convey the sentiments of the parties by

Like to the Pontic Monarch of old days. ihat universal depuiy of Mercury-an old woman. Å Mithridates of Pontus.


T is the sunset of lifn gives me mystical loro,
And coming ereals cast their shadows before."


DEDICATION. Lapr! if for the cold and cloudy clime

Where was I born, but where I would not die,

of the great Poet-Sire of Italy I dare to build the imitative rhyme, Harsh Runic copy of the South's sublime,

Thou art the cause ; and howsoever I

Fall short of his immortal harmony,
Thy gentle heart will pardon me the crime.

Thou, in the pride of Beauty and of Youth,

Spak'st; and for thee to speak and be obey'd Are onc; but only in the sunny South

Such sounds are utter'd, and such charms display'd, So sweet a language from so fair a mouth

Ah! to what effort would it not persuade? Ravenna, June 21, 1819.

and probable conjecture may be considered us heving decided the question.

He may also pardon my failure the inore, as I am no! quite sure that he would be pleased with my success, since the Italians, with a pardonable nationality, are par

ticularly jealous of all that is left them as a nation their literature, and in the present bitterness of the classic and romantic war, are but ill disposed to permit a foreigner even to approve or imitate them without finding some fault with his ultramontane presumption. I can easily

enter into all this, knowing what would be thought in England of an Italian imitator of Milton, or if a translation o Monti, or Pindemonte, or Arici, should be held up to the rising generation as a model for their future poetical essay:. But I perceive that I am deviating into an address to the Italian reader, when my business is with the English ong and be they few or many, I must take my leave of both.

PREFACE. In the course of a visit to the city of Ravenna in the summer of 1819, it was suggested to the author that hav

CANTO I. ing composed something on the subject of Tasso's con- Once more in man's frail world! which I had left fnement, he should do the same on Dante's exile-the So long that 't was forgotten ; and I feel tomb of the poet forming one of the principal objects of in- The weight of clay again,--too soon bereft terest in that city, both to the native and to the stranger. Of the immortal vision which could heal

"On this hint I spake," and the result has been the My earthly sorrows, and to God's own skies following four cantos, in terza rima, now offered to the List me from that deep gulf without repeal, reader. If they are understood and approved, it is my Where late my ears rung with the damned cries purpose to continue the poem in varous other cantos to Of souls in hopeless bale; and from that place its natural conclusion in the present age. The reader is or lesser torment, whence men may arise requested to suppose that Dante addresses him in the Pure from the fire to join the angelic race ; interval between the conclusion of the Divina Commedia Midst whom my own bright Beatrice bless'd' and his death, and shortly before the latter event, foretell- My spirit with her light; and to the base ing the fortunes of Italy in general in the ensuing centu- of the eternal Triad ! first, last, best, ries. In adopting this plan I have had in my mind the Mysterious, three, sole, infinite, great God! Cassandra of Lycophron, and the Prophecy of Nereus by Soul universal! led the mortal guest, Horace, as well as the Prophecies of Holy Writ. The Unblasted by the glory, though he trod measure adopted is the terza rima of Dante, which I am From star to star to reach the almighty throno. not aware to have seen hitherto tried in our language, ex- Oh Beatrice ! whose sweet limbs the sod cept it may be by Mr. Hayley, of whose translation 1 So long hath prest, and the cold marble stone, never saw but one extract, quoted in the notes to Caliph Thou sole pure seraph of my earliest love, Vathek ; so that-if I do not err—this poem may be Love so incffable, and so alone, considered as a metrical experiment. The cantos are That naught on earth could more my bosoin move short, and about the same length of those of the poet, And meeting thee in heaven was but to meet whose name I have borrowed, and most probably taken That without which my soul, like the arkless dove in vain.

Had wander'd still in search of, nor her feet Among the inconveniences of authors in the present Relieved her wing till found; without thy light day, it is difficult for any who have a name, good or bad, My paradise had still been incomplete.? to escape translation. I have had the fortune to see the Since my tenth sun gave summer to my sight fourth canto of Childe Harold translated into Italian versi Thou wert my life, the essence of my thought, sciolti—that is, a poem written in the Spenserean stanza Loved ere I knew the name of love, and bright into blank verse, without regard to the natural divisions of Still in these dim old eyes, now overwrought the stanza, or of the sense. If the present poem, being on With the world's war, and years, and banishment, a national topic should chance to undergo the same fate, And tears for thee, by other woes untaught ; I would request the Italian reader to remember that For mine is not a nature to be bent when I have failed in the imitation of his great "Padre By tyrannous faction, and the brawling crowd; Alighier,” I have failed in imitating that which all study And though the long, long conflict hath been sprema and few understand, since to this very day it is not yel in vain, and never more, save when the clond seltled what was the meaning of the allegory in the first Which overhangs the Apennine, my mind's eye anto of tho Inferno, unless Count Marchetti's ingenious Pierces to fancy Florence, once so proud

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