[1]Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa, is an Italian Nobleman of the highest estimation among his countrymen, for Genius, Literature,and military accomplishments. To Him Torquato Tasso addressed his "Dialogue on Friendship," for he was much the friend of Tasso, who has also celebrated him among the other princes of his country, in his poem entitled "Jerusalem Conquered" (Book XX).

                Among cavaliers magnanimous and courteous
                - Manso is resplendent.

During the Author's stay at Naples he received at the hands of the Marquis a thousand kind offices and civilities, and, desirous not to appear ungrateful, sent him this poem a short time before his departure from that city.


These verses also to thy praise the Nine[2]
Oh Manso! happy in tha...

Ah God, from heaven look down and view;
Let it thy pity waken;
Behold thy saints how very few!
We wretches are forsaken.
Thy word they grant nor true nor right,
And faith is thus extinguished quite
Among the sons of Adam.

They teach a cunning false and fine--
In their own wits they found it;
Their heart in one doth not combine,
Nor on God's word they ground it;
One chooses this, the other that;
Endless division they are at,
And yet they keep smooth faces.

God will outroot the teachers all
Who with false shows present us;
Besides, their proud tongues loudly call--
Tush! tush!--who can prevent us?
We have the right and might in full;
And what we say, that is the rule;
Who dares to give us lessons!

Therefore saith God: I...

I like the old house tolerably well,
Where I must dwell
Like a familiar gnome;
And yet I never shall feel quite at home:
I love to roam.

Day after day I loiter and explore
From door to door;
So many treasures lure
The curious mind. What histories obscure
They must immure!

I hardly know which room I care for best;
This fronting west,
With the strange hills in view,
Where the great sun goes,--where I may go too,
When my lease is through,--

Or this one for the morning and the east,
Where a man may feast
His eyes on looming sails,
And be the first to catch their foreign hails
Or spy their bales.

Then the pale summer twilights towards the pole!
It thrills my soul
With wonder and delight,
When gold-green sha...

With all the little children, far and near,
God wot! to-day we'll sing a song of cheer!
To rosy lips and eyes, that know not guile,
We one and all will give back smile for smile;
And for the sake of all the small and gay
We will be children also for to-day.

Holly we'll hang, with mistletoe above!
God wot! to-day we'll sing a song of love!
And we will trip on merry heel and toe
With all the fair who lightly come and go;
We will deny the years that lie behind
And say that age is only in the mind.

And to the needy, in whatever place,
God wot! to-day we'll lend a hand of grace;
For where is he who hath not need himself,
Although he dine on silver or on delf?
And we who pass and nod this Christmas Day
May never meet again on life's highway.

Day's coming up now, joy's returned,
Sorrow's dark cloud-castles captured and burned;
Over the mountain-tops glowing
Light-king his armies is throwing.
"Up now, up now!" calls the bird,
"Up now, up now!" child-voice heard,
Up now my hope in sunshine. "

Conquer we shall, but we must first contend;
'Tis not the fight that crowns us, but the end.

The Spirit of the Unborn Babe peered through the window-pane,
Peered through the window-pane that glowed like beacon in the night;
For, oh, the sky was desolate and wild with wind and rain;
And how the little room was crammed with coziness and light!
Except the flirting of the fire there was no sound at all;
The Woman sat beside the hearth, her knitting on her knee;
The shadow of her husband's head was dancing on the wall;
She looked with staring eyes at it, she looked yet did not see.
She only saw a childish face that topped the table rim,
A little wistful ghost that smiled and vanished quick away;
And then because her tender eyes were flooding to the brim,
She lowered her head. . . . "Don't sorrow, dear," she heard him softly say;
"It's over now. We'll try to be as happy as bef...

1.

One Day the Amarous Lisander,
By an impatient Passion sway'd,
Surpris'd fair Cloris, that lov'd Maid,
Who cou'd defend her self no longer ;
All things did with his Love conspire,
The gilded Planet of the Day,
In his gay Chariot, drawn by Fire,
War now descending to the Sea,
And left no Light to guide the World,
But what from Cloris brighter Eves was hurl'd.

2.

In alone Thicket, made for Love,
Silent as yielding Maids Consent,
She with a charming Languishment
Permits his force, yet gently strove ?
Her Hands his Bosom softly meet,
But not to put him back design'd,
Rather to draw him on inclin'd,
Whilst he lay trembling at her feet;
Resistance 'tis to late to shew,
She wants the pow'r to sav, Ah!what do you do?
<...

When the happy appear, I forget the gods in the heavens;
But before me they stand, when I the suffering see.

        So you're going to give up flirtation, my dear,
            And lead a life sober and quiet?
        There, there, I don't doubt the intention's sincere.
            But wait till occasion shall try it.
                    Is Ramsay engaged?
                    Now, don't look enraged!
            You like him, I know don't deny it!

        What! Give up flirtation? Change dimples for frowns
            Why, Nell, what's the use? You're so pretty,
        That your beauty all sense of your wickedness drowns
            When, some time, in country or city,
                    Your fate comes at last.
                    We'll forgive all the past,
            And think of you only with pity.

        Indeed! so "you feel for the woes of my sex!"
 ...

I hold that life more fortunate by far
    That sits with its sweet memories alone
    And cherishes a joy for ever flown
Beyond the reach of accident to mar.
(Some joy that was extinguished like a star)
    Than that which makes the prize so much its own
    That its poor commonplacenesses are shown;
(Which in all things, when viewed too closely, are.)

Better to mourn a blossom snatched away
    Before it reached perfection, than behold
With dry, unhappy eyes, day after day,
The fresh bloom fade, and the fair leaf decay.
    Better to lose the dream, with all its gold,
Than keep it till it changes to dull grey.

Forth to his study the sculptor goes
    In a mood of lofty mirth:
"Now shall the tongues of my carping foes
    Confess what my art is worth!
In my brain last night the vision arose,
    To-morrow shall see its birth!"

He stood like a god; with creating hand
    He struck the formless clay:
"Psyche, arise," he said, "and stand;
    In beauty confront the day.
I have sought nor found thee in any land;
    I call thee: arise; obey!"

The sun was low in the eastern skies
    When spoke the confident youth;
Sweet Psyche, all day, his hands and eyes
    Wiled from the clay uncouth,
Nor ceased when the shadows came up like spies
    That dog the steps of Truth.

He said, "I will do my will in spite
    Of the rising dark; for, see,

    At first you will know not what they mean,
    And you may never know,
    And we may never tell you: -
    These sudden flashes in your soul,
    Like lambent lightning on snowy clouds
    At midnight when the moon is full.
    They come in solitude, or perhaps
    You sit with your friend, and all at once
    A silence falls on speech, and his eyes
    Without a flicker glow at you: -
    You two have seen the secret together,
    He sees it in you, and you in him.
    And there you sit thrilling lest the
    Mystery Stand before you and strike you dead
    With a splendor like the sun's.
    Be brave, all souls who have such visions
    As your body's alive as mine is dead,
    You're catching a little whiff of the ether
    Reserved for God H...

O that word REGRET!
There have been nights and morns when we have sighed,
"Let us alone, Regret! We are content
To throw thee all our past, so thou wilt sleep
For aye." But it is patient, and it wakes;
It hath not learned to cry itself to sleep,
But plaineth on the bed that it is hard.

We did amiss when we did wish it gone
And over: sorrows humanize our race;
Tears are the showers that fertilize this world;
And memory of things precious keepeth warm
The heart that once did hold them.
    They are poor
That have lost nothing; they are poorer far
Who, losing, have forgotten; they most poor
Of all, who lose and wish they MIGHT forget.

For life is one, and in its warp and woof
There runs a thread of gold that glitters fair,
And sometimes in t...

("Matelôts, vous déploirez les voiles.")

[XVI., May 5, 1839.]


Ye mariners! ye mariners! each sail to the breeze unfurled,
In joy or sorrow still pursue your course around the world;
And when the stars next sunset shine, ye anxiously will gaze
Upon the shore, a friend or foe, as the windy quarter lays.

Ye envious souls, with spiteful tooth, the statue's base will bite;
Ye birds will sing, ye bending boughs with verdure glad the sight;
The ivy root in the stone entwined, will cause old gates to fall;
The church-bell sound to work or rest the villagers will call.

Ye glorious oaks will still increase in solitude profound,
Where the far west in distance lies as evening veils around;
Ye willows, to the earth your arms in mournful trail will bend,

When Time who steals our years away
    Shall steal our pleasures too,
The memory of the past will stay
    And half our joys renew,
Then, Julia, when thy beauty's flower
    Shall feel the wintry air,
Remembrance will recall the hour
    When thou alone wert fair.
Then talk no more of future gloom;
    Our joys shall always last;
For Hope shall brighten days to come,
    And Memory gild the past.

Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl,
    I drink to Love and thee:
Thou never canst decay in soul,
    Thou'lt still be young for me.
And as thy; lips the tear-drop chase,
    Which on my cheek they find,
So hope shall steal away the trace
    That sorrow leaves behind.
Then fill the bowl--away with gloom!
    Our joys shall always last;<...

    When by a generous Public's kind acclaim,
    That dearest meed is granted, honest fame;
    When here your favour is the actor's lot,
    Nor even the man in private life forgot;
    What breast so dead to heavenly virtue's glow,
    But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe?

    Poor is the task to please a barbarous throng,
    It needs no Siddons' powers in Southerne's song;
    But here an ancient nation fam'd afar,
    For genius, learning high, as great in war,
    Hail, CALEDONIA, name for ever dear!
    Before whose sons I'm honoured to appear!
    Where every science, every nobler art,
    That can inform the mind, or mend the heart,
    Is known; as grateful nations oft have found
    Far as the rude barbarian marks th...

Oft have I seen, in gay, equestrian pride,
Some well-rouged youth round Astley's Circus ride
Two stately steeds--standing, with graceful straddle,
Like him of Rhodes, with foot on either saddle,
While to soft tunes--some jigs and some andantes--
He steers around his light-paced Rosinantes.

So rides along, with canter smooth and pleasant,
That horseman bold, Lord Anglesea, at present;--
Papist and Protestant the coursers twain,
That lend their necks to his impartial rein,
And round the ring--each honored, as they go,
With equal pressure from his gracious toe--

To the old medley tune, half "Patrick's Day"
And half "Boyne Water," take their cantering way,
While Peel, the showman in the middle, cracks
His long-lasht whip to cheer the do...