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Small change of scene, small space his home re- When from his classic dreams the student steals,' quires, (3)

Amid the buzz of crowds, the whirl of wheels, Who leads a life of satisfied desires.

To muse unnoticed-while around him press What though no marble breathes, no canvas glows, Alone, in wonder lost, he seems to stand

The meteor-forms of equipage and dress ; From every point a ray of genius flows! (4)

A very stranger in his native land! Be mine to bless the more mechanic skill,

And (though perchance of current coin possest, That stamps, renews, and multiplies at will;

And modern phrase by living lips exprest) And cheaply circulates, through distant climes,

Like those blest Youths, (10) forgive the fabling page, The fairest relics of the purest times.

Whose blameless lives deceived a twilight age, Here from the mould to conscious being start

Spent in sweet slumbers; till the miner's spade Those finer forms, the miracles of art;

Unclosed the cavern, and the morning play'd. Here chosen gems, imprest on sulphur, shine,

Ah! what their strange surprise, their wild delight! That slept for ages in a second mine ;

New arts of life, new manners meet their sight! And here the faithful graver dares to trace

In a new world they wake, as from the dead; A Michael's grandeur, and a Raphael's grace!

Yet doubt the trance dissolved, the vision fled! Thy Gallery, Florence, gilds my humble walls, And my low roof the Vatican recalls !

O come, and, rich in intellectual wealth,

Blend thought with exercise, with knowledge health! Soon as the morning-dream my pillow flies, Long, in this shelter'd scene of letter'd talk, To waking sense what brighter visions rise ! With sober step repeat the pensive walk; O mark! again the courses of the Sun,

Nor scorn, when graver triflings fail to please, At Guido's call, (5) their round of glory run! The cheap amusements of a mind at ease ; Again the rosy Hours resume their flight,

Here every care in sweet oblivion cast, Obscured and lost in floods of golden light! And many an idle hour-not idly pass'd. But could thine erring friend so long forget

No tuneful echoes, ambush'd at my gate,

Catch the blest accents of the wise and great. (11) (Sweet source of pensive joy and fond regret)

Vain of its various page, no Album breathes That here its warmest hues the pencil flings,

The sigh that Friendship or the Muse bequeaths. Lo! here the lost restores, the absent brings;

Yet some good Genii o'er my hearth preside, And still the Few best loved and most revered (6)

Oft the far friend, with secret spell, to guide ; Rue round the board their social smile endear'd ?

And there I trace, when the grey evening lours, Selected shelves shall claim thy studious hours; A silent chronicle of happier hours ! There shall thy ranging mind be fed on flowers !! When Christmas revels in a world of snow, There, while the shaded lamp's mild lustre streams, And bids her berries blush, her carols flow; Read ancient books, or dream inspiring dreams; (7) His spangling shower when Frost the wizard flings; And, when a sage's bust arrests thee there, (8) Or, borne in ether blue, on viewless wings, Pause, and his features with his thoughts compare. O'er the white pane his silvery foliage weaves, -Ah, most that Art my grateful rapture calls, And gems with icicles the sheltering eves ; Which breathes a soul into the silent walls ; ? -Thy muffled friend his nectarine-wall pursues, Which gathers round the Wise of every Tongue, (9) What time the sun the yellow crocus wooes, All on whose words departed nations hung; Screened from the arrowy North; and duly hies 2 Still prompt to charm with many a converse sweet; To meet the morning-rumor as it flies; Garies in the world, companions in retreat! To range the murmuring market-place, and view

Though may thatch'd bath no rich Mosaic knows, The motley groups that faithful Teniers drew. A limpid spring with unfelt current flows.

When Spring bursts forth in blossoms through the Emblem of Life! which, still as we survey,

vale, Seeros motionless, yet ever glides away!

And her wild music triumphs on the gale, The shadowy walls record, with Attic art,

Oft with my book I muse from stile to stile; 3 The strength and beauty that its waves impart. Oft in my porch the listless noon beguile, Here Thetis, bending, with a mother's fears Framing loose numbers, till declining day Dipe her dear boy, whose pride restrains his tears. Through the green trellis shoots a crimson ray; There, Venus, rising, shrinks with sweet surprise,

Till the West-wind leads on the twilight hours, As ber fair self reflected seems to rise !

And shakes the fragrant bells of closing flowers.

Nor boast, 0 Choisy! seat of soft delight, Far from the joyless glare, the maddening strife,

The secret charm of thy voluptuous night. And all the dull impertinence of life,

Vain is the blaze of wealth, the pomp of power! These eye-lids open to the rising ray,

Lo, here, attendant on the shadowy hour, And close, when nature bids, at close of day.

Thy closel-supper, served by hands unseen, Here, at the dawn, the kindling landscape glows;

Sheds, like an evening-star, its ray serene, (12) There noon-day lovees call from faint repose. Here the flush'd wave flings back the parting light;

1 Ingenium, sibi quod vacuas desumsit Athenas, There glimmering lampe anticipate the night.

Et studiis annos septem dedit, insenuitque
Libris et curis, statuâ taciturnius exit

-apis Matina

2 Fallacem circum, vespertinumque pererro
More modoque
Grata carpentis thyma-Hor.

Sæpe forum. ? Posten vero quám Tyrannio mihi libros disposuit, mens ad

3 Tantôt un livre en main, errant dans les prairies

Boileau. Gitme videtur meus ædibus. --Cic. C2



iii, 9.

To hail our coming. Not a step profane

agros.” Distant views contain the greatest variety Dares, with rude sound, the cheerful rite restrain; both in themselves and in their accidental variations. And, while the frugal banquet glows reveald,

Note 3, page 21, col. 1. Pure and unbought,'—the natives of my field;

Small change of scene, small space bis bome requires. While blushing fruits through scatter'd leaves invite, Still clad in bloom, and veil'd in azure light!

Many a great man, in passing through the apart

ments of his palace, has made the melancholy reflecWith wine, as rich in years as HORACE sings,

tion of the venerable Cosmo: "Questa è troppo gran With water, clear as his own fountain flings,

casa à si poco famiglia."- Mach. Ist. Fior. lib. vii. The shifting side-board plays its humbler part,

Parva, sed apta mihi,” was Ariosto's inscription Beyond the triumphs of a Loriot's art. (13)

over his door in Ferrara ; and who can wish to say Thus, in this calm recess, so richly fraught

more? "I confess," says Cowley, “I love litileness With mental light, and luxury of thought, almost in all things. A little convenient estate, & My life steals on ; (0 could it blend with thine !) little cheerful house, a little company, and a very Careless my course, yet not without design. little feast.”—Essay vi. So through the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide, (14)

When Socrates was asked why he had built for The light raft dropping with the silent tide; himself so small a house, “Small as it is," he replied, So, till the laughing scenes are lost in night, “I wish I could fill it with friends.”—PHEDRUS, I. The busy people wing their various flight, Culling unnumber'd sweets from nameless flowers,

These indeed are all that a wise man would deThat scent the vineyard in its purple hours. sire to assemble ; " for a crowd is not company, and

Rise, ere the watch-relieving clarions play, faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a Caught through St. James's groves a blush of day; (15) tinkling cymbal, where there is no love." Ere its full voice the choral anthem flings

Note 4, page 21, col. 1. Through trophied tombs of heroes and of kings.

From every point a ray of genius flows ! Haste to the tranquil shade of learned ease,

By this means, when all nature wears a louring Though skill'd alike to dazzle and to please ;

countenance, I withdraw myself into the visionary Though each gay scene be search'd with anxious eye, worlds of art; where I meet with shining landscapes, Nor thy shut door be pass’d without a sigh.

gilded triumphs, beautiful faces, and all those other If, when this roof shall know thy friend no more, objects that fill the mind with gay ideas, etc. Addison. Some, form'd like thee, should once, like thee, explore; It is remarkable that Antony, in his adversity, Invoke the lares of this loved retreat,

passed some time in a small but splendid retreat, And his lone walks imprint with pilgrim-feet ; which he called his Timonium, and from which Then be it said, (as, vain of better days,

might originate the idea of the Parisian Boudoir, Some grey domestic prompts the partial praise) that favorite apartment, l'on se retire pour être soul, “ Unknown he lived, unenvied, not unblest; mais l'on ne boude point.--STRABO, l. xvii. PLUT. Reason his guide, and Happiness his guest.

in Vit. Anton. In the clear mirror of his moral page,

Note 5, page 21, col. 1. We trace the manners of a purer age.

At Guido's call, etc. His soul, with thirst of genuine glory fraught, Alluding to his celebrated fresco in the Rospigliosi Scom'd the false lustre of licentious thought. Palace at Rome. -One fair asylum from the world he knew,

Note 6, page 21, col. 1.
One chosen seat, that charms with various view!

And still the Few best loved and most revered.
Who boasts of more (believe the serious strain)
Sighs for a home, and sighs, alas! in vain.

The dining-room is dedicated to Conviviality ; 01, Through each he roves, the tenant of a day,

as Cicero somewhere expresses it, Communitati vitæ And, with the swallow, wings the year away!" (16) atque victûs." There we wish most for the society

of our friends; and, perhaps, in their absence, most require their portraits.

The moral advantages of this furniture may be NOTES.

illustrated by the pretty story of an Athenian cour tesan, “ who, in the midst of a riotous banquet with

her lovers, accidentally cast her eye on the portrait Note 1, page 20, col. 2.

of a philosopher, that hung opposite to her seat : the Oft o'er the mead, at pleasing distance, pass.

happy character of temperance and virtue struck her Cosmo of Medicis took most pleasure in his Apen that she instantly quitted the room; and, retiring

with so lively an image of her own unworthiness, nine villa, because all that he commanded from its windows was exclusively his own. How unlike the home, became ever after an example of temperance, wise Athenian, who, when he had a farm to sell, as she had been before of debauchery.” directed the crier to proclaim, as its best recommen

Note 7, page 21, col. 1. dation, that it had a good neighborhood.-Plut. in

Read ancient books, or droam inspiring dreamg. Vil. Themist

The reader will here remember that passage of Note 2, page 20, col. 2.

Horace, Nunc veterum libris, nunc somno, elc. which And through the various year, the various day. was inscribed by Lord Chesterfield on the frieze of Horace commends the house, “ longos quæ prospicit his library.

Note 8, page 21, col. 1. 1 -dapes inemptas.- Hor.

And, when a sage's bust arrosta theo there. 2 Innocuas amo delicias doctamque quietem.

Siquidem non solum ex auro argentove, aut certe ex

ære in bibliothecis dicantur illi, quorum immortales Hence every artist requires a broad and high animæ in iisdem locis ibi loquuntur: quinimo etiam light. Hence also, in a banquet-scene, the most quæ non sunt, finguntur, pariuntque desideria non picturesque of all poets has thrown his light from traditi vultus, sicut in Homero evenit. Quo majus the ceiling.- Æn. i, 726. (ut equidem arbitror) nullum est felicitatis specimen, And hence the "starry lamps" of Milton, that quam semper omnes scire cupere, qualis fuerit ali

from the arched roof quix. ---Plin. Nat. Hist.

Pendent by subtle magic,Cicero speaks with pleasure of a little seat under

-yielded light Aristotle in the library of Atticus. “Literis sustentor

As from a sky. et recreor; maloque in illa tua sedecula, quam habes

Note 13, page 22, col. 1. xub imagine Aristotelis, sedere quàm in istorum sella

Beyond the triumphs of a Loriot's art. curuli!"-Ep. ad All. iv, 10. Nor should we forget that Dryden drew inspira

At the petits soupers of Choisy were first introtion from the “ majestic face” of Shakspeare ; and duced those admirable pieces of mechanism, afterthat a portrait of Newton was the only ornament and the Servante; a table and a side-board, which

wards carried to perfection by Loriot, the Confidente of the closet of Buffon.—Ep. to Kneller. Voyage à Monthart.

descended and rose again covered with viands and

wines. And thus the most luxurious Court in EuIn the chamber of a man of genius we

rope, after all its boasted refinements, was glad to Write all down: Such and such pictures ;--- there the window

return at last, by this singular contrivance, to the the arras, figures,

quiet and privacy of humble life.- Vie privée de Why, such and such.

Louis XV, tom. ii, p. 43.
Note 9, page 21, col. 1.

Between 1. 10, and I. 11, col. 1, were these lines,

since omitted : Which gathers round the Wise of every Tongue. Quis tanuis non gaudeat et glorietur hospitibus,

Hail, sweet Society! in crowds unknown,

Though the vain world would claim thee for its own. exclaims Petrarch.-Spectare, etsi nihil aliud, certè

Still where thy small and cheerful converse flows, juvat.--Homerus apud me mutus, imò verò ego apud Be mine to enter, ere the circle close. illum surdus sum. Gaudeo tamen vel aspectû solo, When in retreat Fox lays his thunder by, et sæpe illum amplexus ac suspirens dico: O magne

And Wit and Taste their mingled charms supply;

When Siddons, born to melt and freeze tho heart, vir, etc.—Epist. Var. lib. 20.

Performs at home her more endearing part;

When he, who best interprets to mankind
Note 10, page 21, col. 2.

The winged messengers from mind to mind,
Like those blest Youths.

Leons on his spade, and, playful as profound,

His genius sheds its evening-sunshine round, See the Legend of the Seven Sleepers.--GIBBON,

Be mine to listen; pleased yet not elate, c. 33.

Ever too modest or too proud to rate
Note 11, page 21, col. 2.

Myself by my companions, self-compell’d

To earn the station that in life I held.
Catch the blest accents of the wise and great.
Mr. Pope delights in enumerating his illustrious They were written in 1796.
guest: Nor is this an exclusive privilege of the

Note 14, page 22, col. 1. poet. The Medici Palace at Florence exhibits a So through the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide. long and imposing catalogue. “Semper hi parietes

An allusion to the floating bee-house, or barge columnæque eruditis vocibus resonuerunt.'

laden with bee-hives, which is seen in some parts Another is also preserved at Chanteloup, the seat of France and Piedmont. of the Duke of Choiseul.

Note 15, page 22, col. 1.
Note 12, page 21, col. 2.

Caught through St. James's groves at blush of day.
Sheds, like an evening-star, ita ray serene.

After this line in the MS. At a Roman supper, statues were sometimes em

Groves that Belinda's star illumines still, ployed to hold the lamps.

And ancient Courts and faded splendors fil.
-Aurea sunt juvenum simulacra per ædeis,
Lampadas igniseras manibus retinentia dextris.

Note 16, page 22, col. 1.
Lucr. ii, 24.

And, with the swallow, wings the year away!
A fashion as old as Homer!-Odyss. vii, 100. It was the boast of Lucullus that he changed his

On the proper degree and distribution of light, we climate with the birds of passage.—Plut. in Vit. may consult a great master of effect. Il lume grande, Lucull. ed alto, e non troppo potente, sarà quello, che ren How often must he have felt the truth here inder le particole de corpi molto grale. Tralt. della culcated, that the master of many houses has no Pittura di LIONARDO DI Vinci, c. xli.



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I. 'Twas Autumn; through Provence had ceased The vintage, and the vintage-feast. The sun had set behind the hill, The moon was up, and all was still, And from the convent's neighboring tower The clock had tollid the midnight-hour, When Jacqueline came forth alone, Her kerchief o'er her tresses thrown; A guilty thing and full of fears, Yet ah, how lovely in her tears! She starts, and what has caught her eye? What-but her shadow gliding by ? She stops, she pants; with lips apart She listens—to her beating heart! Then, through the scanty orchard stealing, The clustering boughs her track concealing, She flies, nor casts a thought behind, But gives her terrors to the wind; Flies from her home, the humble sphere Of all her joys and sorrows here, Her father's house of mountain-stone, And by a mountain-vine o'ergrown. At such an hour in such a night, So calm, so clear, so heavenly bright, Who would have seen, and not confess'd It looked as all within were blest ? What will not woman, when she loves ? Yet lost, alas, who can restore her?She lifts the latch, the wicket moves; And now the world is all before her.

Up rose St. Pierre, when morning shone;
And Jacqueline, his child, was gone!
Oh what the madd'ning thought that came ?
Dishonor coupled with his name!
By Condé at Rocroy he stood ;
By Turenne, when the Rhine ran blood ;
Two banners of Castile he gave
Aloft in Notre Dame to wave;
Nor did thy Cross, St. Louis, rest
Upon a purer, nobler breast.
He slung his old sword by his side,
And snatch'd his staff and rush'd to save;
Then sunk-and on his threshold cried,
“Oh lay me in my grave!
-Constance ! Claudine! where were ye then?
But stand not there. Away! away!
Thou, Frederic, by thy father stay.
Though old, and now forgot of men,
Both must not leave him in a day."
Then, and he shook his hoary head,

Unhappy in thy youth!” he said.
“ Call as thou wilt, thou call'st in vain;
No voice sends back thy name again.
To mourn is all thou hast to do;
Thy play-mate lost, and teacher too."

And who but she could soothe the boy,
Or turn his tears to tears of joy?
Long had she kiss'd him as he slept,
Long o'er his pillow hung and wept;

| And, as she pass'd her father's door,
She stood as she would stir no more.
But she is gone, and gone for ever!
No, never shall they clasp her-never!
They sit and listen to their fears;
And he, who through the breach had led
Over the dying and the dead,
Shakes is a cricket's cry he hears!

Oh! she was good as she was fair;
None-none on earth above her!
As pure in thought as angels are,
To know her was to love her.
When litle, and her eyes, her voice,
Her every gesture said “rejoice,"
Her coming was a gladness;
And, as she grew, her modest grace,
Her down-cast look 't was heaven to trace,
When, shading with her hand her face,
She half inclined to sadness.
Her voice, whate'er she said, enchanted ;
Like music to the heart it went.
And her dark eyes—how eloquent!

Ask what they would, 't was granted.
Her father loved her as his fame;
-And Bayard's self had done the same !

Soon as the sun the glittering pane
On the red floor in diamonds threw,
His songs she sung and sung again,
Till the last light withdrew.
Every day, and all day long,
He mused or slumber'd to a song,
But she is dead to him, to all!
Her lute hangs silent on the wall;
And on the stairs, and at the door
Her fairy-step is heard no more!
At every meal an empty chair
Tells him that she is not there;
She, who would lead him where he went,
Charm with her converse while he leant;
Or, hovering, every wish prevent;
At eve light up the chimney-nook,
Lay there his glass within his book ;
And that small cheet of curious mould,
(Queen Mab’s, perchance, in days of old,)
Tusk of elephant and gold;
Which, when a tale is long, dispenses
Its fragrant dust to drowsy senses.
In her who mourn'd not, when they mise'd her
The old a child, the young a sister?
No more the orphan runs to take
From her loved hand the barley-cake.
No more the matron in the school
Expects her in the hour of rule,

To sit amid the ellin brood,
Praising the busy and the good.
The widow trims her hearth in vain,
She comes not-nor will come again!
Not now, his little lesson done,
With Frederic blowing bubbles in the sun ;


Nor spinning by the fountain-side,

Now he sigh'd heavily; and now, (Some story of the days of old,

His hand withdrawing from brow, Barbe Bleue or Chaperon Rouge half-told

He shut the volume with a frown, To him who would not be denied ;)

To walk his troubled spirit down : Not now, to while an hour away,

-When (faithful as that dog of yore' Gone to the falls in Valombrè,

Who wagg'd his tail and could no more) Where 't is night at noon of day;

Manchon, who long had snuff'd the ground, Nor wandering up and down the wood,

And sought and sought, but never found, To all but her a solitude,

Leapt up and to the casement few, Where once a wild deer, wild no more,

And look'd and bark'd and vanish'd through. Her chaplet on his antlers wore,

“ 'T is Jacqueline! "T is Jacqueline !" And at her bidding stood.

Her little brother laughing cried.

“I know her by her kirtle green, II.

She comes along the mountain-side ; The day was in the golden west ;

Now turning by the traveller's seat,And, curtain'd close by leaf and flower,

Now resting in the hermit's cave, The doves had cooed themselves to rest Now kneeling, where the pathways meet, In Jacqueline's deserted bower ;

To the cross on the stranger's grave. The doves that still would at her casement peck, And, by the soldier's cloak, I know And in her walks had ever flutter'd round (There, there along the ridge they go) With purple feet and shining neck,

D'Arcy, so gentle and so brave! True as the echo to the sound.

Look up-why will you not ?" he cries, That casement, underneath the trees,

His rosy hands before his eyes; Half open to the western breeze,

For on that incense-breathing eve Look'd down, enchanting Garonnelle,

The sun shone out, as loth to leave. Thy wild and mulberry-shaded dell,

See to the rugged rock she clings ! Round which the Alps of Piedmont rose,

She calls, she faints, and D'Arcy springs; The blush of sunset on their snows :

D'Arcy so dear to us, to all; While, blithe as lark on summer


Who, for you told me on your knee, When green and yellow waves the corn,

When in the fight he saw you fall, When harebells blow in every grove,

Saved you for Jacqueline and me!" And thrushes sing "I love! I love !!!!

And true it was! And true the tale! Within (80 soon the early rain

When did she sue and not prevail ? Scatters, and 't is fair again;

Five years before—it was the night Though many a drop may yet be seen

That on the village-green they parted, To tell us where a cloud has been)

The lilied banners streaming bright Within lay Frederic, o'er and o'er

O'er maids and mothers broken-hearted; Building castles on the floor,

The drum-it drown'd the last adieu, And feigning, as they grew in size,

When D'Arcy from the crowd she drew. New troubles and new dangers;

“One charge I have, and one alone, With dimpled cheeks and laughing eyes,

Nor that refuse to take,
As he and Fear were strangers.

My father-if not for his own,
St. Pierre sat by, nor saw nor smiled. Oh for his daughter's sake!"
His eyes were on his loved Montaigne; Inly he vow'd—"'t was all he could !"
But every leaf was turn'd in vain.

And went and seal'd it with his blood.
Thed in that hour remorse he felt,

Nor can ye wonder. When a child, And his heart told him he had dealt

And in her playfulness she smiled, Unkindly with his child.

Up many a ladder-path? he guided A father may awhile refuse ;

Where meteor-like the chamois glided, But who can for another choose ?

Through many a misty grove. When her young blushes had reveal'd

They loved—but under Friendship's name ; The secret from herself conceal'd,

And Reason, Virtue fann'd the flame; Why promise what her tears denied,

Till in their houses Discord came, That she should be De Courcy's bride?

And 't was a crime to love. - Wouldst thou, presumptuous as thou art, Then what was Jacqueline to do? O'er Nature play the tyrant's part,

Her father's angry hours she knew, And with the hand compel the heart?

And when to soothe, and when persuade; Oh rather, rather hope to bind

But now her path De Courcy cross'd, The ocean-wave, the mountain-wind;

Led by his falcon through the gladeOr fix thy foot upon the ground

He turn’d, beheld, admired the maid ; To stop the planet rolling round.

And all her liule arts were lost! The light was on his face; and there

De Courcy, lord of Argentiere! You might have seen the passions driven- Thy poverty, thy pride, St. Pierre, Resentinent, Pity, Hope, Despair

Thy thirst for vengeance sought the snare. Like clouds across the face of Heaven.

1 Argus. 1 Cantando " lo amo! Io amo!"-Tasso.

2 Called in the language of the country pas de l' Echelle. 5


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