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 FIFTY 
 SELECT POEMS,
 
 tlFTl 
 
 qX//^ q9I 
 
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 'if 
 
 c_y 
 
 MARC-ANTONIO FLAMIMO, 
 
 IMITATED BY 
 WITH A SHORT MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 ^/ye Vetera I'le zyf-rc^^cLcory' Wra7'7^^a^/j,cJf.^/J.J!Ji3 
 
 ©ava'Y Xuf-uTTeis. 
 
 
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 MS. 
 REVERENDI. VIRI 
 
 EDV GVL BARNARD AM. 
 
 QVEM • PR AEPKOPERE • EXSTINCTVM 
 
 FLEBANT 
 
 NON . SOLVM . PROPINQVI .AFFINES . AMICI 
 
 FLEBANT. VEROPAENE IGNOTI 
 
 VT.SVVM 
 
 GENERI • OPTVME • MERITI 
 
 QVOD • FELIX FA VSTVM • QVE SH 
 
 HOC VOLVMEN 
 
 TAM • MORVM • QVAM • INGENII 
 
 MONVMENTVM - FVTVRVM 
 
 DEDICAT I 
 
 MiERENS- SOGER ' 
 
 FRANCISCVS . WRANGHAM 
 
 AS MDCCCXXIX. 
 
 ■JI/,WJ. ..■!■. F ■■llPP.>m«a •(.■» 
 
 Jw^ 
 
 ooi3«j'OX
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Of the subjoined Poems a specimen has been approved by 
 the exquisite taste of Lord (Jrenville, himself an accomplished 
 poet ; who has also revived, and sanctioned, the fame of the 
 original Author, by calling him (in the Preface to his classical 
 Njujo! Metrica) his " favourite Flaminius." 
 
 They would have sooner made their appearance, had I not 
 vainly awaited the result of inquiries instituted in almost every 
 part of the Continent for a copy of the Padua edition of Fla- 
 minio's Works ; from which I hoped, with little expense of time, 
 to derive materials for enlarging tlie prefixed Memoir. Even 
 without such assistance, however, the Translations, I trust, will 
 be regarded as no unworthy Monument to the memories of 
 two kindred and similarly-gifted minds. Non quia interceden- 
 dum putem imaginiius, quce marmore aut cere jinguntur ; sed, 
 ut vultus hominum, ita simulacra vultus imbccilla et mortalia 
 sunt : forma mentis ceterna. (Tac. Vit. Agric. 4G.) And the 
 orphans of Mr. Barnard, now happily almost unconscious of 
 their irreparable loss, wiU one day thank their grandfather for 
 having thus asserted the claim of their parent, whom he will ne- 
 ver cease to regret, to no mean station among the poets of his 
 country. 
 
 It was my first purpose to have dedicated the Volume to 
 One of the noblest and most munificent of men, the Earl Fitz- 
 william, as an evidence of talents and attainments, which it was 
 his Lordship's generous intention to have patronised : but, on 
 farther reflexion, it was tliought more correct to preserve it's 
 MOHwmcniai character, even in the Inscription. 
 A
 
 ?v 
 
 Mr. Barnard, at the time of his death, January 10, 1828, 
 Esteem'd, adnured, beloved in vain ! 
 had not quite completed his thirty-seventh year. 
 
 Sic rosa vix laetum calathi pandebat honorem, 
 Cum cadit, ct rutilo viurice pinyit humum : 
 as mourns Flaminio De se JE(jrotante, in the anticipation of 
 his own untimely fate ; after which follows, in terms too strictly 
 prophetical of my present melancholy office, the apostrophe to 
 his Father, 
 
 Jam condes manibus lumina nostra tiiis ; 
 Jam me jiostremo tumuli donalis honore. 
 The whole poem, indeed (see pp. 40, 41) viewed especially with 
 this reference, is a highly pathetic composition. 
 
 Such prognostications, ever but too common in the cases of 
 delicate frames and sensitive and susceptible minds, often occur 
 in the poetry both of the Italian and the English bard. With 
 what I am afraid to call a ' presentiment,' Mt, B. bad written, in 
 a scrap-book belonging to one of his sisters-in-law, a passage rare- 
 ly I apprehend to be found in such sprightly compilations : — 
 " Psalm ciii. 15, &c. 
 
 As for Man, his days are as grass. As a flower of the 
 field, so Ue flourisheth : for the wmd passeth over it, and it is 
 gone, and the place thereof shall know it no more. 
 
 But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlast- 
 ing, upon them that fear Him ; and his righteousness unto chil- 
 dren's children, to such as keep his covenant, and to those that 
 remember his commandments to do them." 
 
 His only acknowledged publications are, 
 
 ' Trifles, imitative of the Chaster Style of Meleager'' 
 (Carpenters. 1818. 8vo.) ; and ' The Protestant Beadsman'' 
 (Rivmgtons. 1822. 8vo.) 
 
 He had projected, however, a History of the English 
 Church, not long before flfr. Southey's work on that subject 
 appeared, and had collected many valuable matcriaU for the pur- 
 pose. He had also, with equal judgement ami industry, made
 
 numerous extracts, memoramla, and refeTcnces for a far inftrc de- 
 tailed Memoir of Flaminio, from a wide range of contemporary 
 and succeeding authors — French, Italian, and Latin -. ami, if 
 it had pleased Providence to spare his virt^ious and valuable life, 
 he would assuredly have attained high literary distinction. 
 These MSS. papers, had it not been out of an anxious wish to dis- 
 charge (however inadequately) what I deemed a boundcn duty, I 
 should have shrunk from examining, accustomed as 1 had long 
 been to see them receiving daily accessions from his assiduous 
 labours. As it is, I am compelled by want of leisure to kave 
 many of them unapplied ; particularly several relative to the 
 Academies of Italy, the personal friends of Flaminio, and his 
 theological correspondence (1542 — 1544) with Luigi Calino, 
 Theodorina Sauli, Caracciolo, Cesare Flaminio, Carlo Gualteruz- 
 zi, &c. as preserved in the Lettere Volyari di divvrsi nobilissimi 
 huomini. Aid. Vineg. 1545, 1550. 8vo. 
 
 In lieu of them, the Reader must kindly consent to accept, 
 at the end of this Introduction, a few of Mr. Barnard's Vers de 
 Society (on miscellaneous subjects), which might otherwise either 
 perish, or pass into the world under the name of other writers. 
 I venture, farther, to repeat my own imperfect Tribute to his Me- 
 mory, and my Version of one of Flaminio's shorter pieces on the 
 Approach of Winter, along with the original as a specimen of 
 his poetic powers. That Version, however, I should never have 
 thought of obtruding, had it not been accepted and adopted by 
 Him, whose judgement upon such matters I am ill disposed to 
 call in question — even where perhaps I ought to feel, that it had 
 been but too probably warped by the partiality of personal regard. 
 
 I had meant to append, in a note or two, the old translations 
 of the Umbra frigidulce, !(c. (I. 121.) and the Ne tu beatum 
 dixeris, 8fc. (V. 306.) by Ashmore of Horatian memory, who 
 from some parts of his rare olio appears to have lived near Ri. 
 pon — as well as an ancient MS. Version, subscribed J. G., of 
 passages selected from the beginning of the Fourth Book of 
 Flaminio; if but to show, how little justice had been previously 
 done to his compositions. But I shall more advantageously
 
 Vl 
 
 occupy the pages, so destined, by annexing to tlie Memoir 
 the Tcstimonia of Mr. Roscoc, Do Thou, and the Editor of the 
 Poemata Italorumoi 1C84 ; who, if we may trust the authority 
 of tlie Rev. Tho. Rud of Durham, was— not Bishop Atterbury, 
 but a Mr. Tho. Power, B. A. and subsequently Fellow of Trinity 
 College, Cambridge. IMorc might casUy have been supplied. 
 
 I have only, in conclusion, to observe that the numerical 
 references at the head of each version are made to the Carmina 
 Quinque Illustrium Poctarum (sc. Petr. Bembi, Andr. Nau- 
 gerii, Balth. Castilioni, Joan. Cottse, et M.A. Flaminii) edited 
 at Florence in 8vo. in 1652. 
 
 FRANCIS WRANGHAM. 
 
 Chester, 1829.
 
 vu 
 
 LINES SACRRD TO THE MEMORY Of 
 
 THE REV. EDWARD WILLIAM BARNARD. 
 
 Ilia saltern accumulem ilvriix. 
 
 Farewell, blest Shade ! nor deem, though mute the lyre. 
 No tears are shed for thee, do sighs aspire 
 To follow where thou lead'st the glorious way ! 
 Great griefs conceal what lighter woes display. 
 Deep is thy memory seated in this heart, 
 Noi thence shall ever — save with life — depart. 
 
 Oh ! could, like thine, my fingers sweep the shell ! 
 When Time shall cast o'er me his soothing spell, 
 And dry the sorrows that now flood mine eyes, 
 As soft remembrances witliin me rise — 
 Thy genius should not want it's equal fame ; 
 Praise, deathless praise, should tend upon thy name : 
 
 In each bright verse — were such rare talent mine 
 
 Should glow the Fair, the Good — for tliose were thine : 
 
 Thy wit, taste, fancy, should be hymn'd in turn ; 
 
 Thy thoughts that kindle, and thy " words that burn :" 
 
 As in thine own Flaminio, learn'd and sweet, 
 
 The Pure and Pious in chaste bond should meet : 
 
 With lyric grace, or elegiac woe — 
 
 Thine were both arts — th' alternate strain should flow ; 
 
 And the light world, lesson'd for once by me. 
 
 Should feel and mourn what it has lost in thee. 
 
 It may not be — too weak the faltering song 
 To match thy worth, might haply do thee wrong : 
 Panting to see thee girt with glory's ray, 
 I would not mar it by my tear-dimm'd lay. 
 Time's hastening hand shall stamp thy sure renown. 
 And for thy temples weave his greenest crown > 
 Whilst, as around thy fame's proud echoes swell. 
 Our tender thoughts shall on thy virtues dwell, 
 And pleased to mark these earthly honours given. 
 With holier rapture hail the wreath thou wear'st in heaven. 
 
 Chester, Jan. 1828. Francis Wrangham.
 
 VIM 
 
 DE AUVENTU IIYEMIR. (I. 117) 
 
 Jam bnimd vcniente pr(eferivit 
 A^.itas mollior, ct cadunt ab altis 
 Frondes arborihus : tcpor Favoni, 
 ftnmane!^ Borc(c fnrcntis iras 
 Formidans, abit. Ilium, ayri voluptas, 
 CanortB volucres scquunhir. Ergo 
 El no$ dulcia rura deseramus, 
 Dnm Ver purpurea coma decorum 
 T^ducat Zephtfri tepvntis aunnn. 
 
 Ilorti, deliciof mete, valcte ! 
 Pontes lucididi, vnlcte ! Salve, 
 Mihi villula carior superbis 
 lieytim limimbus ' Jiecedo ; scnsum 
 Sed nieuiii hie auimumque derelinquo. 
 
 ON THE APPROACH OF WINTER. 
 
 Summer's last lingering rose is flown, 
 
 The leaf has withcr'd on the tree ; 
 I hear the coming winter moan 
 
 Through the sad forest sullenly. 
 
 The North-wind's rage soft Zephyr flies ; 
 
 And all the songsters of the grove. 
 Borne on his wing, 'mid brighter skies 
 
 Trill their sweet lays of joy and love. 
 
 Then quit wc, too, the rural plain ; 
 
 Till Spring, with coronal so gay, 
 'Woo young Favonius back again, 
 
 And chide his coy, his cold delay. 
 
 Farewell, ye flowers, ye streams ! and thou, 
 Sweet home, than princely hall more dear ! 
 
 Seat of my soul's delight, adieu ! 
 
 I go—but leave my spirit here. F. W.
 
 IX 
 
 MISCELLANIES J 
 
 By THE L.xra 
 
 Eel). Q£, turn,, IBmm-a. 
 
 Twice three years have pass'd aw'ay 
 
 Since when I stood on Airey's brow, 
 
 And thought on many a holiday 
 
 Pass'd with thee at our home below, 
 
 I scarce believed the lapse of time : 
 But, when fond memory call'd again 
 
 The playmate of my boyhood's prime, 
 I shrank to feel she call'd in vain. 
 
 He sleeps, alas ! a soldier's sleep 
 
 On thy red bosom, Waterloo ; 
 And I have ceased his loss to weep, 
 
 And girt me to tlie world anew. 
 
 But hours, like this, will reach me yet 
 
 "When something heard, or seen, or spoken 
 
 Stirs up witliin my heart regret, 
 
 Mellow'd by time, but never broken. 
 
 Here, on this very breezy hill. 
 
 When July's eve brought gentle weather, 
 How often have we communed, till 
 
 Our hearts would leap and cling together ! 
 
 How often in the arduous chace 
 
 Emulous, but from envy free 
 
 We've paused abreast, and laugh'd to trace 
 The laggards on yon miry lea !
 
 How often into Fate's dark book — 
 Proplietic both, but ah ! unwise 
 
 Our eager spirits dared to look, 
 
 But look'd alas ! with Hope's young eyes 
 
 We read not, that thy lot was scal'd, 
 Admired by all, in youth to die ! 
 
 My real fate was unreveal'd ; 
 Still much is with futurity. 
 
 M'e read not, that domestic joy. 
 
 Life's dearest gift, was stored for me : 
 
 We read not, that a gallant boy, 
 In name and look recalling thee. 
 
 Should rise beneath my fostering care — 
 A light to gild my humble way, 
 
 And keep thy memory fresh and fair 
 Even to tliy brother's latest day. 
 
 And now I should be loth to see 
 The leaf, my latter end disclosing ; 
 
 For life has yet been good to me, 
 And haply ill may vex it's closing. 
 
 But chief, my little ones, for you 
 I dread to read what Fate may bring ! 
 
 The fairest flowers, that earth e'er knew, 
 Have perish'd in their natal spring : 
 
 And thou, dear Charles, hast taught me now, 
 That worth is impotent to save ; 
 
 That manhood's bravest plume must bow 
 Before thy breath, insatiate giave !
 
 XI 
 
 I-T\ES ADDIIESSKI) TO A rUllA). 
 
 No doubt or fcur ^llall coiiil- to sliudc 
 Thy promise fair, my smiling bo'v : 
 
 Let Wisdom augur what she will, 
 
 Tliy father's fervent spirit still 
 Shall prophesy of joy. 
 
 I know, that earth is doom'd to perish : 
 I know that thou, like me, art clay ; 
 
 And eye, and lip, and beaming brow, 
 
 That shine so eloquently now, 
 Ere long shall jjass away. 
 
 I know that many trials wait thee, 
 
 And foes lie hid that heart within ; 
 That grief shall soil my beauteous child, 
 And pleasure's lure and passions wild 
 Hurry thee into sin, 
 
 But thou, a spark of God's own spirit, 
 
 Shalt ne'er remain their willing slave ; 
 For I will pray ; and One above 
 Shall rescue send on wings of love, 
 Omnipotent to save. 
 
 Oh ! if thine eye shall linger here. 
 
 When he who writes is laid in dust ; 
 These artless lines shall teach thee where 
 Was heard for thee a father's prayer. 
 Where stood a father's trust. 
 
 And thou, in pure simplicity, 
 
 Shalt seek the path he darkly trod ; 
 
 Witli better hope shalt spurn delay. 
 
 And hold in Christ th' unerring way 
 Erom infancy to God. 
 
 b
 
 :ni 
 
 TO A CHILD SLEEIMNO: 
 
 Sleep on, my little Rose, uninjured slccii ! 
 ■^Miilst I, with love untired, my vigil keep, 
 And study thy sweet face. The clustering hair 
 Curl'd o'er thy glowing cheek and forehead fair. 
 The little hands upon thy pillow prest, 
 The calm deep motions of thy guileless breast. 
 The half-form 'd smiles around that lip that play. 
 And tell of dreams as innocent and gay 
 As thy young self, my child !^0h ! what should please 
 A father's eye, and heart, so well as these ? 
 Ah ! — for a cloud obscures that sunny brow ! 
 What angry shape has cross'd thy fancy now ? 
 Hath J\Iab been with thee ? See ! she prompts in vain, 
 That blessed smile is beaming there again ! 
 I hold my breath, and listen for the name, 
 Tliat but half utter'd with that faint smile came. 
 Again — " fliama*' — yes — she, whose kiss removes 
 All pain and grief, so wondrously she loves ! 
 She is the angel of thy dreaming mind — 
 Fit dwelling-place for one so pure and kind ! 
 
 Sleep on, sweet Hose, dream ever thus, nor wake 
 To aught but happiness. Thou can'st not make 
 In fancy's world a visionary bliss 
 JMore clear and brilliant, than thou fmd'st in this : 
 For love is all thy young life's business here — 
 Pure holy love, unmix'd with doubt or fear. 
 Would it might always be so ! " But a time 
 Of change must come; and thou shalt hear of crime. 
 Of hate, of fickleness, of guile and scorn. 
 And pride and envy, and the foul return 
 
 Of evil for good deeds Heaven guard thy lot 
 
 From these, my cliild ! Heaven grant, thou feel them not! 
 Yet these are man's inhcritaiite. Thou must bear — 
 E'en thouj uiy innocent, ihy allotted share
 
 XHl 
 
 <Of purifying grief. Tliy trying hour 
 ]\Iust conic ere long, perhaps when earthly jiower 
 Is none to aid ; when these ilim eyes, that pour 
 Their blessing thus, watch over thee no more ! 
 
 Peace, troubled spirit ! mumiur not ; for One 
 There is, who ne'er will leave her : He alone 
 
 JHath power, and will, to keep her in the way 
 
 Of innocence and love; His arrn will stay 
 Her soul, that she shall faint not. 
 
 What, though foes 
 Be leagued against the good, and earthly woes 
 Be hard to bear ! What, though the vale appear, 
 M'hich all must pass of darkness and of fear ! 
 E'en there shall faith find triumph, and the rod 
 Of comfort succour all, who trust in God. 
 
 My child ! my child ! the time shall come, when thou 
 Shalt o'er my pillow bend as I do now ; 
 And hush thine own to catch my parting breath, 
 Still asking, ' Is it sleep, or is it death ?' 
 Oh ! chiefly then, when I am laid in dust. 
 Thine earliest love remember. Fix thy trust 
 In the sure promise of Redeeming Love ; 
 And here thou shalt bave peace, and happiness above.
 
 XIV 
 
 TO A I-ADV, 
 
 Jl'rilHv iifler the nirtli of her Vtni^hlcr (Hosamonii) . 
 
 I linger by thy silent bed. 
 
 Vet sorrow not ; — for in thine eye. 
 
 And gentle brow, no trace remains 
 Of pain gone l)y : 
 
 She, who lies sleeping on thy breast. 
 Hall) turn'd thy grief to cxtasy. 
 
 Ah ! not in vain thy tender looks 
 
 Tall on thy husband's watchful heart : 
 
 They bid me share tliy joy, and fain — 
 Fain would impart 
 
 Those mysteries of maternal love. 
 That ne'er shall from thy soul depart. 
 
 And not in vain tliy husband's prayer 
 Shall duly rise for her, for thee : 
 
 This Rose now budding by thy side — 
 Oh ! may she be 
 
 For ever sweet to earth and heaven. 
 As thou hast been to God and me ! 
 
 And thou, through life's long pilgrimage, 
 Shalt on thy daughter's love recline ; 
 And teach her like a star of peace, 
 Like thee, to shine- 
 Studious of every earthly grace, 
 But trusting only to divine. 
 
 And when in age thy God shall stoop 
 To take his gift, thy pure-drawn breath, 
 
 Her bosom shall thy pillow be : 
 Her love, her faith 
 
 Shall cheer thee to the last, and share 
 Thy triumph o'er the sting of deatii.
 
 XV 
 
 TO MV Il()i\lE. 
 
 Von old grey wall, whose gable Iiigli 
 liifts tlie Redeemer's sign, 
 
 Whose tendrils green like tracery 
 {^'er aicli and mullion twine — 
 
 It is, in truth, a holy place ; 
 
 For God himself hath dcign'd to grace 
 Tiiat liumblc Home of, mine : 
 
 And ihouglits of Him are blended fair 
 
 With every joy I've tasted tlicre. 
 
 Tiie one best friend, whose modest worth 
 
 E'en from my praises flies ; 
 The babe, whose soul is budding forlb. 
 
 From her blue smiling eyes ; 
 And prattling still the sturdy boy. 
 Who climbs my knee with heart of joy 
 
 To gain his little prize — 
 Their looks of love how can I see. 
 Nor think, great Sire of Love, on thee ? 
 
 Pride enters not yon peaceful room ; 
 
 But books and arts abound ; 
 Nor there do vain Penates come 
 
 To reign — 'tis holy ground ! 
 And duly. Lord, when evening brings 
 Release from toil on balmy wings, 
 
 An household band is found 
 To raise thy throne, and ofFcr there 
 The gift thou lovest, Domestic Prayer 
 
 Within, all studies end in thee ; 
 
 And when abroad I rove. 
 There's not a herb, a flower, a tree, 
 
 That speaks not of thy love : 
 There's not a leaf, that whiil'd on high 
 Wanders along the stormy sky. 
 
 That hath not words to prove — 
 
 /
 
 XVI 
 
 How like would be my restless lot. 
 If Cirace Divine upheld me not ! 
 
 Oh ! look upon yon glorious scene ; 
 A\'ood, hill, and wave survey : 
 Mark every path where God hath been, 
 
 And own his wondrous way. 
 For nie, I daily come to bless, 
 Ik' Dear landscape, all thy loveliness ; 
 \ And dare not turn away, 
 
 Till I have spoken the Psalmist's line — 
 
 " These gracious works, dread Lord, are thine. 
 
 My Home ! my Home! I've paused awhile 
 
 In many a stranger land, 
 And seen in all " boon nature" smile 
 
 Beneath her JIaker's hand : 
 But never, since calm Reason took 
 From Fancy's clutch her rhyming book, 
 
 A joyful resting plann'd — 
 Till here the blessed scene I laid. 
 Here in mine own romantic shade. 
 
 My Home ! my Home ! Oh ! ever dear 
 Thy hallow'd scenes shall lie ; 
 
 In joy or grief, in hope or fear. 
 My spirit clings to thee. 
 
 I deem my Home an emblem meet 
 
 Of that enduring last retreat, 
 From pain and passion free. 
 
 Where Peace sliall fix her bright abode. 
 
 And yield her followers up to God.
 
 xvu 
 WOUIAN. 
 
 Oh Thou, by heaven ordain'd to be 
 Arbitress of man's destiny ! 
 From tliy sweet lip one tender sigh, 
 One glance from thine approving eye, 
 Can raise or bend him at thy will 
 To virtue's noblest flights, or worst extremes of ill. 
 
 Be angel-minded, and despise 
 Thy sex's little vanities ; 
 And let not Passion's lawless tide 
 Thy better purpose sweep aside ; 
 P'or woe awaits the evil hour. 
 That lends to man's annoy thy heaven-entrusted power. 
 
 Woman I 'tis thine to cleanse his heart 
 From every gross unholy part : 
 Thine, in domestic solitude, 
 To win him to be wise and good ; 
 
 His pattern, friend, and guide to be 
 
 To give him back the heaven, he forfeited for thee ! 
 
 AN EVENING MEDITATION. 
 
 I love to watch yon little western cloud. 
 So brightly colour'd by the setting sun : 
 
 See, how it lessens, lost each glorious hue ! 
 Touches the veil of twilight — and is gone ! 
 
 Oh grant my soul, kind Heaven, a doom like this. 
 So soft, so mild, to quit these bonds of clay ; 
 
 To shine awliilc in Friendship's partial eye- 
 Then, like yon happy vapour, pass away !
 
 -Will 
 
 He coiULs ! to libcriitc the earth, 
 
 •• Willi healing; on his wing ;" 
 Anil Joy leaps up, and Love, and 31iitli, 
 
 To greet the inCanl Spring ! 
 Where'er the beauteous wanderer treads, 
 Herb and Howcr put forth their heads 
 
 To court his life-inspiring kiss : 
 And hark ! the wild bird's roundelay 
 Proclaims aloud from every spray 
 
 The age of love and bliss. 
 
 Alas ! how cold, how dull the heart, 
 
 That leaps not to the Spring, 
 That feels not every nobler part 
 
 Alive and blossoming ! 
 Thou, Lucy, dearly lovest to rove 
 Along the mead, the vale, the grove, 
 
 Aiul feast on Nature's cxtasy : 
 Yet still with cold unpitying face 
 Can'st on thy lover's anguish gaze. 
 
 And let him droop and die ! 
 
 MY GREYHOUNDS. 
 
 Uemcmbcr'st thou my Greyhounds true ; 
 O'er holt or Iiill there never flew. 
 From least or slip there never sprang. 
 More fleet of foot or sure of fang, 
 
 I Sir JK. Scott.) 
 
 Oh ! dear is the naked wold to me, 
 
 Wliere I move alone in my majesty ! 
 
 Thyme and cistus kiss my feet. 
 
 And spread around their incense sweet. 
 
 The laverock, springing from his bed, 
 
 Pourb royal greeting o'er my licad ,
 
 XIK 
 
 My gallant guards, my Greyhounds tried, 
 March in order by my side ; 
 And every thing that's eartlily born, 
 Wealtli and pomp and pride, 1 scorn— 
 
 And chiefly thee. 
 Who lift'st so high thy little horn, 
 
 Philosophy ! 
 
 Wilt thou say, that life is short ; 
 That Wisdom loves not hunter's sport, 
 But virtue's golden fruitage rather 
 Hopes in cloister'd cell to gather ? 
 Gallant Greyhounds, tell her ; here 
 Trusty Faith and Love sincere, 
 Here do Grace and Zeal abide, 
 And humbly keep their master's side. 
 Bid her send whate'cr hath sold 
 Human hearts — lust, power, and gold 
 
 A cursed train ! 
 And blush to find, that on the wold 
 
 They bribe in vain. 
 
 Then let her preach ! The DIuse and I 
 Will turn to Goshawk, Gaze, and Guy ; 
 And give to worth it's proper place. 
 Though found in nature's lowliest race. 
 And when we would be great or wise, 
 Lo ! o'er our heads are smiling skies : 
 And thence we'll draw instruction true. 
 That worldly science never knew. 
 Then let her argue as she wLU ;— 
 I'll wander with my Greyhounds still 
 
 (Halloo! halloo!) 
 And hunt for health on the breeze-wom hill, 
 
 And wisdom too.
 
 XX 
 
 THE ANGELS' SONO- 
 
 INTRODUtTlON. 
 
 Come with a poet's eye, anJ parent's heart., 
 And bless your bounteous Maker ! — There they sit; 
 Beneath yon towering elms — a goodly boy, 
 And gentle girl — their little arms around 
 Each others' necks entwining, as if loth 
 To play at worldly games, and minding only 
 Love, ceaseless love, the business of heaven. 
 Glows not thy heart within thee at the sight ? 
 —Ha ! nobler visions come — and hark ! the voice 
 Of more than earthly music ! Angel forms, 
 Twin spirits, hovering o'er that infant pair. 
 Illume like sunshine the disparting skies — 
 So bright, so fond their smile ! And, higher still 
 (Such social charity prevails in heaven) 
 Cherub and seraph troop around, to hear 
 The Guardians sing their gracious benison. 
 These hand in hand, poised on their snow-white wings. 
 Alternate sing, and at each choral pause 
 liift up to One Unseen their waving palms, 
 And draw down blessings. O'er their innocent charge, 
 In plenteous shower, the ready blessings fall ; 
 To mortal vision like ethereal dews, 
 Odours, or rarest flowers, or costly gems. 
 Or stars of mildest lustre : — beautiful, 
 And passing speech, in plenteous shower they fail ; 
 And ever and anon the 3Jinistering Spirits, 
 With looks that show unutterable love. 
 Bend o'er the infants, and roumc their song.
 
 SOKG. 
 
 Chorus — Strew about, strew about ! 
 
 '1st AnGi Dews from an immortal wing. 
 Little bosoms nourishing ; 
 Smiles of an immortal glow, 
 fliaking goodly seed to grow— . 
 
 Chorus. Strew about, strew about ! 
 
 2nd Ang. Drops of radiance glittering bright 
 From the face of orient light, 
 Ripening every plant of worth. 
 Till it bud and blossom forth — 
 
 Chorus. Strew about, strew about ! 
 
 1st AxG. Flowers, that hand of poet never 
 May from heaven's pastures sever ; 
 Richer theirs than rose's hue ! 
 Sweeter they than violet blue — 
 
 Chorus. Strew about, strew about! 
 
 2nd Ang. Gems that in profusion gay, 
 Fearing nothing of decay, 
 Over heart and over brow 
 Ever bloom as fresh as now~ 
 
 Chorus. Strew about, strew about ! 
 
 1st Ang. Gladsome health to fire the eye. 
 And paint the cheek of infancy ; 
 Doubtless zeal, and guileless love, 
 Manhood's rugged heart to move— 
 
 Chorus. Strew about, strew about ! 
 
 2nd Ang. Lowly thought, and holy fear, 
 
 Studious peace, and conscience clear. 
 And grace divine, to make them be 
 Meet for Angels' company— 
 
 Chorus. Strew about, strew about !
 
 XXI] 
 
 THE LAUNCH OF THE NAUTILUS. 
 
 Up with thy thin transparent sail, 
 Thou tiny mariner ! — The gale 
 Comes gently from the land, and brings 
 The odour of all lovely things 
 That Zephyi, in his wanton play, 
 Scatteis in Spring's triumphant way ; — 
 Of primrose pale, and violet, 
 And young anemone beset 
 By thousand spikes of every hue, 
 Purple and scarlet, white and blue : 
 And every breeze, that sweeps the earth. 
 Brings the sweet sounds of love and mirth ; 
 The shrilly pipe of things unseen. 
 That pitter in the meadows gieen ; 
 The linnet's love-sick melody. 
 The laverock's carol loud and high ; 
 And mellow'd, as from distance borne. 
 The music of the shepherd's horn. 
 
 Up, little Nautilus !_Thy day 
 Of life and joy is come :— Away ! 
 The ocean's Hood, that gleams so bright 
 Beneath the morning's ruddy light. 
 With gentlest surge scarce ripples o'er 
 The lucid gems that pave the shore : 
 Each billow wears it's little spray, 
 As maids wear wreaths on holiday ; 
 And maid ne'er danced on velvet green 
 More blithely round the May's young queen. 
 Than thou shalt dance o'er yon bright sea 
 That wooes thy prow so loviugly. 
 Then lift thy sail i — 'Tis shame to rest, 
 Here on the sand, thy pearly breast.
 
 XXIll 
 
 Away ! thou lirst of mariners, 
 Give to the wind all idle fears ; 
 Thy freight demands no jealous care : 
 Vet navies might be proud to bear 
 The wondrous wealth, the unbouglit spell, 
 That load tliy ruby-ciucturcd shell. 
 A heart is there to nature true, 
 Which wrath nor envy ever knew ; 
 A heart, that calls no creature foe. 
 And ne'er design'd another's woe ; 
 A heart, whose joy o'erflows it's home, 
 Simply because sweet Spring is come. 
 
 Up, beauteous Nautilus ! — Away ! 
 The idle Muse that chides thy stay 
 Shall watch thee long, with anxious eye. 
 O'er thy bright course delighted fly ; 
 And, when black storms deform the main. 
 Cry welcome to the sands again ! 
 Heaven grant, that she through life's wild flow 
 May sail as innocent as thou ; 
 And, homeward turn'd, like thee may find 
 Sure refuge from the wave and wind ! 
 
 THE SWALLOW. 
 
 The visitress of man, on earth 
 She resteth not her flagging wing ; 
 
 But seeks at once the blessed roof. 
 To which in youth she loved to cling. 
 
 She feedeth not on earthly food ; 
 
 But, glancing through the sunny sky, 
 Seems from tlie very element 
 
 To gather immortality !
 
 xxjv 
 
 For who liath ever found her grave, 
 Or seen licr virgin form decay ? 
 
 AVlien wintry deatli is prowling round, 
 Where lives she then ? Aloft — away ! 
 
 Her flight is won : but hatli slic left 
 Nought but her clay-built nest behind ; 
 
 No treasure to reward her host, 
 No moral to refresh his mind ? 
 
 Yes : she hath shown him constant love. 
 Contentment with her simple lot ; 
 
 And scorn of earth, o'er which his soul 
 Passeth — like her — but tarrieth not ! 
 
 THE HAWK. 
 
 How gallantly thy soaring wing 
 
 Hath won yon place on high ; 
 And there remains, unwavering. 
 
 As if it's home were in the sky ! 
 Usurper ! thence thou spread'st afar 
 Terror, like some portentous star ! 
 The birds, that skim the lower air, 
 To covert dark with shrieks repair ; 
 For well thy sudden swoop they know, 
 Thy lightning glance, and deadly blow. 
 The leveret crouches, close and still, 
 On rushy brake and sheltering hill : 
 With rustling wing, and fearful wail, 
 Slow round their young the plovers fail ; 
 And man's dim eye and giddy brain 
 Up to that dazzling height strain after thgc in vain.
 
 XXV 
 
 Yet now, as o'er the city's walls 
 
 In sorrowing mood I bend, 
 Thy sight no piteous thoiiglit reculls ; 
 
 Thou secm'st an old remeniber'il friend. 
 And while I gaze, my spirit flies, 
 Free as thy wing, to distant skies— 
 To thyme-clad wold, and valley dear, 
 Where oft I've watch'd tliy proud career. 
 Again around my morning way. 
 Gentle yet bold, my greyhounds play : 
 Again at noon I throw me down 
 On silver grass, or heather brown, 
 And gild with young poetic eye 
 The meanest flower that blossoms nigh ; 
 Or people the wild hill again 
 "W^iih thousand fairy forms, Titania's peerless train. 
 
 And now, a sportsman's honours won, 
 
 I mount yon western brow ; 
 Delighted, ere the day is done. 
 
 To gaze on all that lies below — 
 The far blue hills, the river bright, 
 Burning with sunset's golden light ; 
 The scatter'd cots with trees between. 
 The lowly church, the village green 5 
 And chiefly, (dearer far than all) 
 Yon shadowy grove, yon old gray hall ! 
 A cross surmounts it's gable high. 
 Beneath it countless roses sigh : 
 O'er arch and mullion, waving light, 
 Twine trembling leaves and blossoms white : 
 Within — but hold, my soul ! repress 
 Each thought of that fire-side, now cold and teiiantless ! 
 
 Ah ! happy home ! and must it be 
 
 For aye my mournful lot 
 To wander, restless, far from thee ; 
 
 To wish in vain, and win thee not ?
 
 XXVI 
 
 Vain Hope ! and merciless, as vain ! 
 I will not make thee sport again : 
 Like yon fierce bird thou sccni'st to shine, 
 A star of heaven, 'midst things divine ; 
 Drawing the wretch's heart and eye, 
 Tlicn dashing down, in mockery ! 
 I'll look no more — I'll stoop to bear. 
 Patient and dull, my load of care. 
 I\Iy sickening heart abhors thy ray, 
 AVhich shines and lures but to betray ! 
 Vain Hope ! thy fierce delusion's o'er : 
 Taticnt I'll sufilr on, and look to thee no more.
 
 SOUIE ACCOUNT 01" THE 
 LIFE, JND LITERARY PURSUITS, OF 
 
 MARC-ANTONIO FLAMINIO. 
 
 Few Writers have met with such general applause from 
 tlieir contemporaries as IMarcAntonio Flaminio, and no 
 man has engaged in a more remarkable degree the affections of 
 all who knew him. This personal attachment seems to have 
 influenced all succeeding generations. I should be at a loss 
 to name an author, from his own to the present time, who 
 has not spoken with respect and regard of his character, as well 
 as with admiration of his literary labours. Though living in an 
 age when intellectual distinction was greedily sought for, his seat 
 on the summit of classical fame was undisturbed by the envy 
 which usually follows merit. Placed among the statesmen and 
 nobility of the most intriguing court of Europe, he kept him- 
 self unspotted by any factious feeling, and preserved a rural 
 singleness of heart. With similar felicity, he escaped the moral 
 corruption of the era in which he flourished ; and what to a mind 
 constituted like his might perhaps be more dangerous, the preva- 
 lent substitution of religious observances for the natural worship 
 of a pure and cheerful life. 
 
 The seeds of such a blessed disposition can be sown only by 
 a divine hand : but it's growth may, in part, be attributed to se- 
 condary causes ; among which the most efficacious will always 
 be, what Flaminio happily enjoyed, the careful culture of paternal 
 love and the powerful stimulus of a father's example. Gian-
 
 IV MEMOIR OF 
 
 Antonio Flaminio had the satisfaction of seeing his moral a*' 
 well as his literary excellence reflected in the conduct of his cliild, 
 whose affection for his first and dearest tutor liad no bounds ; and 
 honourable mention of the sire has always accompanied the praise 
 of the son. That sire himself enjoyed a higli reputation. Father 
 Capponi, who published his Familiar Letters at Bologna in 1744, 
 enumeratestwerftyWorkswhichhep^inted, mostofthemin4to, and 
 at least as many inedited productions. Of these Moreri mentions 
 esjiecially a History of the Roman Emperors, the Lives of riany 
 Dominican Saints, two Books of Epigrams, and two entitled 
 Syhct. He speaks himself with great satisfaction of a Tra- 
 gedy, which he named ' Priamus :' but it does not seem to 
 have been printed. J. Gaddius eminently commends one ot his 
 Elegies to his friends. The rank and merit of several of his cor- 
 respondents abundantly prove, that he was hefd in high esteem ; 
 and Capponi ha3 given a minute account of his life and la- 
 bours, which is quoted by Tiraboschi. From this and a letter of 
 the learned Gian-Agostino Gradenigo, Bishop of Ceneda (print- 
 ed in the Nuova Raccolta <P Opusculi, &c.) it appears, that he 
 was the son of Lodovico Zarabbini of Cotignola, a soldier of 
 good family, some of whose ancestors had been entrusted with 
 embassies to different courts by Francesco Sforza, Duke of Mi- 
 lan. Lodovico himself was, also, distinguished as an author; 
 but his works have perished. 
 
 Gian-Antonio was born at Imola about the year 14^4, where 
 he was a fellow-student of RafFaelle Riario, who afterward attain- 
 ed the dignity of a Cardinal. He was subsequently sent to Bo- 
 logna, and studied under the elder Beroaldo. Thence, at the age 
 of sixteen, on account of the pestilence which raged at Bologna 
 he was removed to Venice ; and, in his twentieth year, he was 
 enrolled in the celebrated Academy of Pomponius La;tus, under 
 the assumed name (which passed to his descendcnts) of Flami- 
 nio. In the following year, he accepted an invitation to super- 
 intend the school of Scrravalle, a small town in the diocese of 
 Trevigi, on a salary of a hundred sequins ; and married Veturia 
 a lady of good family, with whom he afterward removed to 
 JVfonlagnana, where he abode at different intervals fourteen ycara,
 
 M. A. FLAMINIO. "V 
 
 At a later perioil, on account of his laily's declining health, he re- 
 turned to Serravalle, and bought a small estate, and built a house at 
 thatplace. Therehelosthis wife, and two of his three sons, Giulio 
 and Fausto. Mention is made, in his letter to Leo, of a fourth, 
 who probably died in infancy ; as IMarc-Antonio omits his name 
 in the poem, which he wrote on the death of his mother and his 
 two brothers. Serravalle being taken and sacked, and his own re- 
 sidence plundered in the wars which followed the League of Cam- 
 bray, Gian-Antonio returned to Imola about the year 1509, after 
 more than twenty -five years' absence, and found his father and mo- 
 ther still alive. His old school-fellow. Cardinal Riario, showed 
 him great kindness; and he received an invitation to Rome, which 
 he declined, from Pope Julius II. About the year 1513, he lost 
 his brother and a very promising nephew, and soon afterward re- 
 turned to his beloved Serravalle ; where he was enrolled among 
 the nobility, and honourably distinguished both by the citizens 
 and the learned men of the neighbourhood. Cardinal Grimani 
 especially, who was resident at the neighbouring town of Ceneda, 
 paid him great attention. His last migration took place in 1520, 
 at the earnest solicitation of the noble family of the Fantuzzi, to 
 Bologna, where (as he informed his son) in his second year of 
 residence he had ten pupils of noble birth in his house, and had 
 refused to receive many others. He died at the advanced age of 
 seventy-two. May 18, 1536. 
 
 The following passage of Tiraboschi introduces the Subject of 
 this Memoir, and I cannot deny myself the pleasure of adopting 
 iL " I now," he says, " speak of the sweetest, the most amiable, 
 " the most modest of all the Latin poets of that age, that is, of 
 " Marc-Antonio Flaminio ; a name not less dear to Virtue than 
 ■" to the Muses, and who in all those who knew him awakened 
 " sentiments of equal admiration and tenderness." He was bom 
 at Serravalle in 1498, and till his fourteenth year appears to have 
 had no instructor but his excellent father. Under his learned 
 and pious guidance, the pupil at once ardent and docile em- 
 braced the doctrines of Christianity, and drank in copious streams 
 ■the philosophy and poetry of Greece and Rome. His superior abi- 
 iities attracted the attention of his tutor's enlightened friends at
 
 VI MEMOIR OF 
 
 an early age. Romolo Amasco, wishing to console Gian-Anto- 
 nio for the loss of his wife, mentions the extensive acquirements 
 of liis son,* wiio was at that time under ten years of age ! It was 
 sound juilgcment therefore, and not parental vanity, which induced 
 Gian-Antonio to send liim unaccompanied to Rome, on complet- 
 ing his sixteenth year, upon a mission wliich,however trifling, must 
 necessarily draw toward him the observation of the learned and 
 the powerful. A Letter of congratulation to Leo X.,-f- who had 
 recently been raised to the Pontificate, a Poem exhorting him to 
 a crusade against the Turks, and a Letter of introduction to the 
 Cardinal fllarco Cornaro were entrusted to his care, with a book 
 also of Miscellaneous Poems from the pen of the bearer ; the 
 latter transcribed probably with a liope, that the promise of ex- 
 cellence displayed in them would procure for the youthful author 
 the friendship and patronage of some of the nobles, who adomed 
 that splendid court. 
 
 The boy-adventurer, on his arrival at Rome, met with a most 
 favourable reception. Cardinal Cornaro and the Cardinal of Ar- 
 ragon took the first opportunity of presenting him to the Pope, 
 who not only accepted his presents with great kindness, but gave 
 him several proofs of his approbation. Not the least of these 
 was a warm recommendation to RafFaelle Brandolini, whose re- 
 putation as an orator and poet stood extremely high. Giam- 
 battista Pio also, who knew and esteemed his father, proposed 
 to give him the benefit of his instruction ; having found him (as 
 he states) equally amiable and learned, but awkward and bash- 
 fulj 
 
 * Ep. xix. PraecocU eruditionis adolcscentulum. 
 
 t His letter to Leo is judicious and elcsiant:— " Misi hac decaussaM. A. 
 Flaminium filium meum, adolesccntem fortasse non ineruditum (parcius 
 enim do co loqui paterna jubet verecundia) qui ct ipse cum suis litterariis 
 munusculis, Persarum more laudatiseimo, adTuam Beatitudinem acccs- 
 sit ; nullo quidem longioris itineris incommodo, nullolaborc deterritus: 
 ac spei pIcnuE, ratusque sc simul ac sua munuscula Tibi fore non inKrata, 
 cui et primitias suas et totum ingcnium cum ipso genitorc jamdia con- 
 iccravit. ForoCorn. 1514. Mai. 6." (Epist. II. 1.) 
 
 t " E«tenim, mihi crede, ingcniu prxcnci juvcnis ac nature primi- 
 geniis favorabilii, cujut inme observantix inirilica: officia exstant innu-
 
 M. A. FLAMINIO. VII 
 
 This, however, is quite at variance with the account given 
 of his behaviour at court, where he is represented by the Car- 
 dinal of Arragon to have charmed by his manners as well as his 
 talents, and to have disputed fearlessly with tlie Pontiff himself." 
 Tliis discussion took place at his third, or fourth, interview. From 
 a letter of his father to Leo, we leam that his Holiness had re. 
 ceived him most condescendingly at one of his villas, and promis- 
 ed to send for him again as soon as he returned to Rome ; a pro- 
 mise, which was not forgotten. On another occasion, delighted 
 with the happy mixture of modesty and genius in the young scho- 
 lar, he addressed him on taking leave of him with Virgil's 
 Macte nova virtute, puer : sic itur ad asira. 
 
 It was not to be expected that Leo, the admirer of genius 
 and the patron of every learned man, would choose to lose a 
 youth, whose abilities were acknowledged on all sides to be of 
 the highest order : and, accordingly, he expresses to his father 
 an earnest wish to retain him in the Eternal City. This splen- 
 
 mera ; sed piidnr quippe subrusticus. Rarcnler ad me itat, et si quando 
 accidit, limide ; ut ocu'.os Augusli inlueii, ac elephanto stipem porrigerc 
 videatur. (Macrob. Saturn. II. 4.) Familiarescat, admone, ac tandem 
 tirocininm exuat : exuet enim, si rae Pium, et te Pii fralrem cojjitabil." 
 (lb. XII. 9.) 
 
 *" Pergratoe nobis fuerunt litlerse tui, Flamini doctissime, non tain 
 certe quod tegratissimumcognovimus.quam quod eximiam animi tui pro- 
 bitatem quasi oculis intueri nobis licuit ; quam egregie tuus repijesentat 
 filius M. A. F.moribHS, ingenio, ac eruditione supra jetatein eingulari ; ut 
 facile intelligamus inqualemsi vixerit virum sit evasurus, qui se nunc ta- 
 lem ac tantum adolescentem praestet. Officia nostra quae tantopere laudas 
 et miiaris, sic tibi ac illi praestitimus, ut multo majora si res postulet vot 
 a nobis, hoc est ab animo benevolentissimo et in vos maxime prono, 
 exspectare velimus. Sed mirificam nobis, et aliquot simul qui aderant 
 Cardinalibus, et aliis quibusdam clarissimis viris attulit voluptatem 
 lilil tui disputatio qusedam, quam cum Pontifice ipso audacter et docte 
 habuit; qua itlius ingenium et doctrinam Beatissimus Pater experiri voluit, 
 cui vix credibile videbatur Sylvarum opusculum, quod is post oblatam 
 epistolam tiiam obtulit,ex tarn adolescentis officina esse profectum. Sed 
 egregie probavit suas esse illas, non alienas vigilias. Quare tibi de tali 
 filio plurimum gratulamur, quern non dubitamus in summum virum et 
 magnum huic sieculo ornamentum, si ad virilem statem Cquod maxime 
 optamus) pervenerit, evasurum. Cui simul ac tibi officia alia et operam 
 nostram, quibuscumque in rebus fuerit opus, tam libeialiter quam libenter 
 poUicemur. Vale. Prid. Cal. Jul. M.0X1III. ex Urbe." (lb, 11. 9.)
 
 VIII MKMOm OF 
 
 tliil offer was, however, refused by Gian-Antonip for reasons as- 
 signed in a letter to his Holiness.* 
 
 Other and more exalted reasons existed, as may easrly be col- 
 lected from his various Epistles. The Court of Leo had already 
 assumed a character of licentiousness ; and it could not be expcct- 
 ctl, that a youth of sixteen would long resist such temptations. 
 Whether the son himself, or friends on whose probity and watch- 
 fulness reliance might safely be placed, solicited a longer resi- 
 dence at Rome, does not appear : but it seems ceptain, that the 
 father's purpose of recalling him home at length gave way : and 
 Jlarc-Antonio, profiting by this indulgence, paid a hasty visit to 
 Naples, where he became acquainted with Sannazaro, then in the 
 height of his renown. 
 
 In the following year, he accepted an invitation to attend 
 Count Baldassar Castiglione to Urbino.-1- 
 
 This accomplished nobleman received him into his oym 
 house, and charmed alike by his genius and his disposition, treat- 
 ed him with fatherly affection. The court of Urbino was, at that 
 time, one of the most brilliant in Italy ; and Castiglione himself 
 >vas not it's least splendid ornament. His very elegant and popu- 
 lar work II Corteyiano, though not published till 1528, was even 
 
 * " Demum pietas in filium unicum nostra iUum a me diutius abease 
 passa non est, quod unum de quatuor filiis (ffitate mca jam prope in 
 senium vergentc, el amissasestatc proximauxorecarissima) solatium mihi 
 reliclum est. I'raclerea illius a;tas me plurimum dcterruit, qusE vix 
 pueritiam (ut vides) egrcssa est ; qua; si fii mior esset, possem illius diutur- 
 niorem absentiam iquiore animo ferre. Salva iKitur.B. P., Tua Celsitu- 
 dinisRratia, redibit jamad patremunicus (utdixi) filius j tuus, ubicunque 
 fucrit, cum ipso genitorc futurus, ac luis mccum laudibus perpetuo 
 invigilaturus. Foro Corn. 1514. Jub." (lb. II. 2.) 
 
 t If he consulted his father on this measure, his letter must have 
 miscarried—-no unusual occurrence in those times— as theneusofhis 
 having leTt Rome, unaccompanied by any notice of his destination, 
 caused great domestic uneasiness. It was only by accident, that he heaid 
 at last of his son's good fortune, and instantly despatched a messenger 
 to ascertain the truth, charged with letters of congratulation on {lis 
 having acquired the friendship of a nobleman so distinguished.
 
 xM. K. FLAIVflNr'O. IX 
 
 tfien in progress ; and liis Latin poetry ecliocd from every mouth. 
 But gallantry was, alas ! in tliese ages but too usually the com- 
 panion of courtly literature ; and all the letters of Flaminio's 
 father to Castiglione, which are numerous, breathe tlie most 
 earnest solicitude on this point* 
 
 • In one, for example : "Defilionequidscribam ratio est, quia is milii 
 abunde siiis declaravit litteris, nunquam silii melius fuissc, nee patrem 
 sibi ncc paternarri domuin deesse ; nihil denique quod cEtati, quodsuis stu- 
 dils necessarium sit, ant optari conveniat. Quiceuin itasiiit, teinperanlur 
 mirifice paterni aflTectus, ac repriniuntur. Et quanquain nulla in re 
 teadinoneri opus est, et per te abunde tapis; attainen quia res adinodum 
 anxia est pateinus amor, qui etiain in tuto timet, nihil magis a te peto, 
 nihil est quod niihi majus prxstare possis, quam si Argi oculis (ut dici 
 solet) semper inspexeris quibuscum versetur. Scis enim pravornm 
 consuctudine nihil adolescenlibus esse pernicisius. Sciebam noti 
 oportere hoc a me scribi, tibi pr^eseitim, quum mihi a ptincipio pcr- 
 suaserim, non minus diligentem et accuratam esse institutionem tuam 
 qtiani meam ; sed «;quo animo (ut consuevisli) meam solicitudinem feres, 
 ac patriae pietati, quae supeivacaneum etiam timorcm frequenter inge- 
 nerat, veniam dabis. Vale." (lb. 1.9 J 
 
 And again, in another ; 
 Neque enim scribere possem quanto jamdiu tuatum litterarum desi- 
 dcrio tencar, in quibus velim me certiorem facias quid agat filius j an libi 
 satisfaciat, ac satis cxspectalioni tuae respondeat ; quorum consuetudine 
 delectfilur—'bonorunl, pnto J sic enim ab ipsa infartlia est a me institu- 
 lus,ac semper admonitus." {lb. XI. 5.) 
 
 His lears were not altogether unfounded: for the verses of the youna 
 Flaminio began to assume a lighter cast, and so early as the month of 
 March his watchful monitor found it necessary to offer a little whole- 
 some reproof. After accepting his excuse for his dilatoriness in writing, 
 he adds : " Oden quam nunc misisti, Icgi libentei, et probavi omnia 
 prseter materiam, quam esse quidem aliquando hilariorem licet alque 
 jocnsam, sed pudentiorem velim ac minus lascivieniem. Tu enim, qui 
 mndo pueritiam egressus es, et non minus pudice quam Vestalis quamdiu 
 sub oculis ct cura patris fuisti educatus es, dare operam maxinie dc- 
 bes, ne paucis mensibus, quibus abes a nobis, videare deposita virgine 
 mores induisse meretriculx. Scio prxcepla hujusmodi a plerisquc 
 adolescentibus contemni, et ridiculos videri qui talia priecipiunt : 
 tanta est facta moruni et pudoris jactura; sed te, sic educatum. Cum 
 vulgo corruptorum adolesccnliutn ineptire non convenit." (lb. V. 2.) 
 Flaminio's mature opinion of licentious poetry is thus bcautifullj' re- 
 
 tojded : 
 
 Quid, » paicntcs, quid juval 
 
 Futilibus nugis et turpi carmine vcstros 
 
 Contaminarc liberos ? 
 Nullum aliud magis esse nocens pucrilibus annis 
 
 \idcie prisca sKcula.
 
 X MEMOIR OF 
 
 J\I;irc.AiUonio repaid the love of Castiglionc by unbounded 
 gratitude and esteem, which he displayed in a beautiful Eclogue, 
 entitled Thyrsis, written on the road as he was returning from 
 iui excursion to fliantua. This, with several poems of great ele- 
 gance, were printed at Fano, in the month of September, and 
 modestly iippcnded to a book of NesnicB of the poet fliarullus.* 
 
 Toward the end of the year, Marc-Antonio was recalled by 
 his judicious father from the fascinations of Urbino. A de- 
 sire that he should choose a profession, or at least proceed in a 
 course of philosophical study, induced him to refuse one of the 
 most honourable overtures ever made to a youth of seventeen. 
 It was an offer, from Sadoleto, to share with him the office of 
 Pontifical Secretary. Tiiis promptitude, on the part of a person 
 at that tune distinguished for his Latin compositions, to advance 
 the interests of one whom vulgar minds would have deemed a 
 rival, does him great honour ; nor can we deny a large share of 
 praise either to the son who deserved, or to the father who could 
 decline, such a flattering proffer. 
 
 Marc-Antonio was now placed at the University of Bo- 
 logna ;-f- and here his good fortune continued to attend him. 
 He was hospitably received in the palace of Count Francesco, 
 a member of the noble house of Bentivoglio, whose friend- 
 ly care of the son's morals the father acknowledged with the 
 warmest gratitude. Similar letters are addressed to the Count's 
 brothers. Andreas and Baptist ; from which it appears that their 
 nephew Andreas, a youth of much promise, was greatly attached 
 to Flaminio. 
 
 « A description of this veiy rare Work is given by Mr. Uoscoe, in hie 
 ' Life of Leo X.' He says, that several of the pieces, including tUc 
 Thi/mis, are not to be found in tlic subsequent editions of ['laminio; and 
 that the letters, prefixed to them, throw consijlcrable light un the caily 
 years and studies of their Autlior. 
 
 t His dislike of this change is disclosed by an cxprcsbion of hib fa- 
 iliit'a let!' r Id llcroaldo, in which he aUo inenlioiis Sadolcto's kindness; 
 " 1 have iccallcd," he says, " or rather lorn away, my ion from the so- 
 ciety of Casliglione at Bologna, however good," &c.
 
 M. A. FLAMINIO. XI 
 
 It iloes not transpire, how long the young student remain- 
 ed at Bologna. On leaving it he returned to Rome, and be- 
 came a member of the illustrious Academy of Pomponius 
 La'tus, which was then in all it's glory. But this second 
 visit was not marked with courtly attentions. The patron- 
 age of the Pontiff shone upon him no longer. It is highly 
 probable, that his upriglit and delicate mind viewed with disgust 
 tlic general licentiousness, and offered no incense at the shrine of 
 power. In fact, not a verse of Flaminio makes mention of Leo." 
 There were few men of talents, however, who did not seek and 
 yalue him, even at this period of depression. lie is named by 
 Arsilli among the distinguished poets then resident at Kome, and 
 his proud independence is noticed in the character given of him, 
 as nimiuin sibi durus et alrox.-f Giraldi, likewise, names him 
 about the same time as a youth of the highest promise, both for 
 his moral conduct, and for his perseverance in study. The infir- 
 mity or disease of his stomach, however, which embittered his 
 whole life, and often rendered him incapable of either prosecuting 
 his literary pursuits, or entering into society, was even at his early 
 age so great as to excite the apprehension of this friendly writer. 
 Bembo, Sadoleto, and Molza also showed him great atten- 
 tion, notwithstanding the neglect of the Pontiff; and he was one 
 of the m«st acceptable visitors at the houses of Angelo Colocci 
 and Gorizio. The last of these splendid patrons of literature has 
 been made known to subsequent ages by the celebrated Coryciana, 
 or Poems offered on his birth-day by the wits of Rome at the mag- 
 nificent shrine, which he erected to his tutelar St. Anne. Flami- 
 nio was the most distinguished of the contributors on this occasion, 
 and is installed by Arsilli the High Priest of the solemnity.* 
 
 The celebrated Longolius resided at Rome, with his friend 
 Tomarotio, during Flaminio's stay there ; but whether their 
 
 * It is not improbable, that the intimacy of Flaminio wilh the fami- 
 ly of tlieSauli, who were involved in Cardinal I'etrucci's conspiracy, con- 
 tributed to keep him in disfavour. 
 
 t Dial, de Poet. Suor. Temp. I. 
 
 i An account of this literary worsliip, and a closfe and elegant trans- 
 lation of one of Flaminio's offerings, is given by Mr. Roscoe. 
 e
 
 XII MEMOIR OF 
 
 acquaintance began casually, or was produced by Flaminio's of- 
 fer to read tlie Defence, which Longolius (in expectation that his 
 enemies would bring him to trial during his absence) had 
 left behind liim, is uncertain.* This trial took place in the 
 end of the year 1519. The Defence was recited before the 
 Pope himself; and won for Longolius not only a complete 
 triumph, but an accession of honour. On his return to Italy, 
 he fixed his abode at Padua, a city to which the fame of 
 it's University attracted men of talent from every quarter of 
 Europe. About the same time, Flaniinio removed from Rome 
 with his friend Stefano Sauli, one of the Apostolical Prothonota- 
 ries ; and these three accomplished men taking into their society 
 Reginald Pole, at that time a student of most amiable disposi- 
 tion, seem to have lived together in the closest intimacy: Nau- 
 gerio and Giulio Camillo, also, were frequently partakers of 
 those feasts of intellect, which occasionally drew Benibo himself 
 from Rome. Our young Author's finances were, however, so low, 
 that he was destitute even of necessary clothing ; a fact, which 
 can only be reconciled with Sauli's known affection for him by a 
 supposition highly honourable to Flaminio's delicacy — that he 
 shrunk from the risk of exchanging the station of a friend for 
 that of a dependent. Longolius endeavoured about this time 
 with great kindness, it appears, to interest Mariano CastcUano, 
 a wealthy kinsman of Flaminio, in his favour.:}: Flaminio, 
 
 * Sadoleto's words, in writing |an account of lliis offer to Longolius, 
 are : "Sed cum exslaret DeTensiotua, quam pro te ipseconscripscras, pri- 
 roo decrelum est dandam operam esse ea uti recitaretur : opeiam suani ad 
 hoc pollicente Flaminio, adolescente in primis ornato liujus civitatis." 
 
 t "jFlaminium ex tuis litteris equidem accusarc possum ncgligcnliac, 
 r)uod nihil unquam ad tede me; sed cum nihilominus a me commenda- 
 tum vetim habeas. Dignus est adolescens, quern omni tua liumariitate 
 libcralitatequc complectarc. Usus es tu quidem aliquando summa in 
 eum bcnignitate ; sed turn cum non tam neccsse cssct, quam nunc est, 
 nee ipse in tantam docliina: spem adhuc ingrcssus. Cave cnim putes 
 quidquam ci istic esse, aut jam muUis ctiam sxculis fuisse, simile vel in- 
 gcnio, vcl induslria, vel probitatp, vcl cliam gravitate. Equidem sic de 
 CO pronunciarc soico, uldicam ncque nalura bcnigniorc qucmquam ho- 
 dic uti, ncque cum forluna duriorc conHictari. Quarc cum id ei cumu- 
 lalissimr' adsil quud nullius bencHcio a^sequi possit, id autem oninino 
 absii qwnd lu ci tumulalissimc prwslarc poles ; ne"toiiimi;tum veli ■, mi
 
 M. A. FLAMFNIO. Xllt 
 
 julccd, is every where mentioned in that writer's Epistles in an 
 uniform tone of aflection and admiration, not unmixed witii 
 apprehension lest his ill-health and consccjuent low spirits sliould 
 hliglit the rich promise of his genius.* 
 
 The residence of Flaminioand Sauli at Padua was interrupted 
 by several visits to Rome and Bologna, and hy one of considerable 
 duration to Genoa (the native place of the latter) in the year 1522. 
 At Genoa, or at a villa belonging to Sauli in it's neighbourhood, 
 where they remained a whole summer, these two friends with the 
 aid of Giulio Camillo and Sebastian Delio established an Aca- 
 demy, which (as Tiraboschi observes) " though too short in it's 
 duration, is worthy of a place among the most illustrious from 
 the merits of it's constituent members." From a letter of Bar- 
 tolomeo Ricci, quoted by that historian, we learn that it was brok- 
 
 Mariane, ut lanlae spei, tanlje virtutis adolescenli et (quod constat) pro- 
 pinquo tuo turn denique defuisse videare, cum ad summam eruditionem 
 dignilatemque plenogradu contendcrct, &c." (Longol. Epist. III. 21.) 
 
 And ayain ; 
 
 " De Flaminio quod bcnigne polUceris, rcspondes illi omnino, quam 
 de prolixa tua atquebenefica in studiosos uinnes semper habui, opinioni : 
 sed nihil eo, quod ostendis, etiam nunc est opus. Inita est cnim a nobis 
 ratio, quemadmodum hie adolescentem tueamur. In vestiario tantum 
 laboramus: in quo si adjutus ate fuerit, otium ejus liberalitale tua cou- 
 stitutum esse judicabo." (lb. IV. 13.) 
 
 5 He writes thus to Ljclius Maximus ; " Quod ingenio, industria, vir- 
 tute sequales suos otnnes longe superarit, plane non tlubito: ne fortuna 
 tantae indoli maiigne responderit, etiam atque etiam timeo. Sed tamen 
 velim ut animo maximo sit, op tet que semper secunda, cogitet ad versa, fe- 
 ral qualiacunqne acciderint, neque sibi prsestandum quidquam prtEter 
 culpam existimet, &c." (lb. II. 6.) Flaminio seems, also, to have 
 been a frequent topic in his correspondence with Bembo. The fol- 
 lowing extract shows, that Bembo entertained the highest opinion of 
 bim : " Flaminium ipsum a me hie tibi cocnmendandum esse non arbi- 
 tror. Est enim jampridem in sere tuo, ut quem tute mihi ipse accurate 
 commendaris. Testimonium modo mei de studio ejus atque industria 
 judicii ei dabitur. Scito ex omni nobilitate llomana multis jam saecuUs 
 exstitissc neminem, qui ad summa ingenii atque judicii ornamenta tan- 
 tum adjunxerit diligentiae, et in omni liberalis doctrins studio assiduita- 
 tis. Non enim politiorem modo humanitatem et communes litterasat- 
 tigit, sed etiam se utraque lingua in recte dicendi disserendiqueratione ita 
 exercuit, ut |non credibile sit neque quam longe jam processerit, neque 
 quo^jaucisannistam plenograduperventurussit, &Ci" (Ib.IlI.22.)
 
 MV MEMOIR OK 
 
 en up by the ill-heallh of Flaminio. Of this visit he speaks, 
 in many of his poems, with mingled satisfaction and regret. 
 
 From Genoa Flaminio accompanied Sauli to Rome, proba- 
 bly during the autumn of tlie same year, the period of their Lon- 
 golius' immature death ; and continued to live with him in the 
 month of March following, as is proved by an epistle ofCastiglione 
 bearing that date. 
 
 Soon afterward Flaminio was induced, perhaps by the re- 
 commendation of Sauli himself, whose friendship ended but with 
 life, to attach himself to the Pope's datary ]\Iatthaso Giberti, the 
 liberal and intelligent Bishop of Verona, with whom he was again 
 established at Padua in 1524. Thence, after no long interval, he 
 attended him to Verona, where he passed several happy years; di- 
 viding his time between his patron's palace and a delightful vil- 
 la, which that excellent Prelate gave him on tlie banks of the Lago 
 di Garda, very near to the residence of Fracastoro. In the so- 
 ciety of this kindred spirit, undefilcd by the slightest mixture of 
 jealousy or reserve, and enlivened by frequent intercourse with 
 Giberti himself, the three brothers della Torre, Capilupi, and 
 others, Flaminio enjoyed all the felicity which easy circumstances, 
 a tranquil conscience, and the purest taste can bestow. Here he 
 devoted himself to the study of the ancient philosophers, espe- 
 cially of Aristotle ; and composed the Treatises, which pro- 
 cured him so much honour among his contemporaries. Here, 
 also, he wrote many of those simple and exquisite Hendecasyl- 
 lables, which are to this day the delight of every scholar. 
 Often reproached by his relatives for having abandoned 
 them, he replied to them in strains of the most touching 
 poetry. Some absences were unavoidable: but they were few 
 and short. He visited Rome, as we learn from himself, in 1527, 
 a short period before it was sacked ; but it is uncertain, whether 
 he was present at that scene of terror. He passed some time, 
 also, at Venice in the year 15.3G, for the sake of printing his Pa- 
 raphrase of Aristotle's Metaphysics, which is commended in 
 the strongest terms by the abbot (afterward Cardinal) Cortese. 
 " Ttulyj" says that churchman, in a letter to the Cardinal Conta-
 
 M. A. FLAAIINIO. XV 
 
 .riiii, " I always promised myself much from the judgement and 
 uiidcrstaiuling of JMarc- Antonio, but in this work he lias exceeded 
 even my expectation." At \'enicc, likewise, in the following 
 jear he printed a prose Paraphrase of thirty. two of tlie Psalms, 
 which received mucli approbation. 
 
 The villa on the lake was, however, his beloved home : but 
 though his tastes were of the simplest kind, and his life was 
 marked by no intemperance (unless it were that of severe study), 
 the disorder of his stomach seemed to gain ground, and almost 
 entirely deprived him of the blessing of sleep, flis cheerful be- 
 haviour was, notwithstanding, unaltered by sufferings. At length 
 his friends, alarmed at their nature and continuance, advised him 
 to seek relief in a change of air. Accordingly, he removed to 
 Naples at the end of the year 1538 ; and thence, not being able to 
 procure such lodgings as he liked, he proceeded to Suessa where 
 he enjoyed the hospitality of Galcazzo Florimonte during the 
 ensuing winter. In thespring, heagainiixed his abode at Naples : 
 but he frequently made excursions to the different parts of that 
 kingdom. At Caserta, especially, he remained a considerable 
 time ; and to it's genial air he chiefly attributes the improve- 
 ment, which took place in his health. At Suessa, Caserta, 
 Naples, and every other place which he visited, his amiable 
 disposition and polished manners secured him zealous friends : 
 and at the last, more particularly, he received all the ho- 
 nours due to his literary merit ; among others, from Tasso, who 
 also urged him to defend the Pontifical Faith.* This exhorta- 
 tion came too late. The deep sense of the vital importance of 
 religion, the correct judgement and humble mind which so enoi- 
 nently distinguished Flaminio, had already led him to penetrate 
 in several points the cloak which the Roman Church had thrown 
 over the Scriptures of Truth. So early as the year 153G he 
 had, with his natural sincerity, professed his doubts, and had been 
 called to account for them : as is evident from the confession of 
 
 * " Bernardo Tasso tra gli altri bramo di conoscerlo, e gli scrisse a lal 
 fine invitandolo a venire a Sorrento, e dolcndosi di non puterlo imilare 
 nella buona vita, come si era sforzato di iinitarlo nella poesia; e conclii- 
 use esortandolo a difendere colla sua virtu la Santa Fede." (Lett, I, I83.)
 
 NVI MEMOIR OF 
 
 Tiraboschi himself, who quotes a passage from a letter writteR 
 by Cortese to Contarvni in the month of June of the same year, 
 *^*^go>"S ''•'" to obtain ftir him the Pope's permission to reail 
 some of the books issued by the Reformers ; " because I would 
 not have that happen to me," he adds, " wiiich befel JMarc- 
 Antonio in the floly Week, especially if M. diChieti (Card. 
 Giampietro Caraffa) should know it." 
 
 At Naples, Flaminio became intimate with the Spanish re- 
 former V'aldes,* and Peter ISIartyr (then the Superior of a Mo- 
 nestery) whom he had known at Padua ; and by often conferring 
 with them on religious points, and comparing the results of their 
 conversation and the suggestions of liis own mind with the Scrip- 
 tures, he was led to embrace the Reformed Tenets in several 
 important particulars. The account of his opinions given by 
 De Thou, and some others, is subjoined below.+ The epigram 
 
 * There is a letter from Bonfadio to Monsignor Carnesecchi, on the 
 subject of Valdes' death, printed in the Leltere Volgari, I. 32, ia whicli 
 oc-curs the following passage :— " E stata ouesto cerlo gran perdita, et a 
 noi et al mondo : perche il Signer Valdes era iin de rari liuomini d' Eu- 
 ropa ; e quei scritti, ch'tgli ha lasciato sopra le Epistole di San Paolo et i 
 Salmi di David, ne faranno pienissima fede. Era senza dubbio nei fatti, 
 nelle parole, et in tiitti i suoi consigli un compiuto huomo. Rrggeva con 
 una particella dell' animo il corpo suo debole et magro: con la mag- 
 gior parte poi, e coM puru inlelletto, e quasi come fuor del corpo, stava 
 (cm pre sollevato alia contcmplaiione delta verita e delle cose divine. Mi 
 condoglio con Messcr Marc-Antonio, perch' cgli piu die ogni allro 
 I'amava et ammirava. A me par, Signor, quando tanli bcni et tante 
 lettere et virtu sono unite in un' animo, che facciano guerra al corpo, et 
 ccrchino quanto piu tosto possono di satire insieme con I'animo alia 
 stanza ond 'egli e sceso." How applicable this last paragraph to both 
 Flaminio, and his Translator ! 
 
 t " Eo tempore inter cos, qui emendationi Ecclesix serio incumbi 
 consultum ducebant, de iis qua: ad Fidem et Opera spcctant, de Gratia et 
 Libero Arbitrio, de Electione, Vocaiione, Glorificationc in occulto con- 
 trovertebatur: ac plerique, aliterquam vulgo doceretur de iis scntientes, 
 se auctoritate B. Augustini tuebantur. In eamque rem opuscula ex ejus 
 Operibus collecta Augustinus Fregosus Sostcneus Venetiisanno MDXLV 
 excudi curaverat, additis notis ac scholiis ; cui sententise accedebat 
 Flaminius, cum in ceteris fidci capitibus doclrina per Germaniam tunc 
 disseminata minime adstipularelur. Nam et luculcntura ipsius exstat 
 inter Vulgares C'larorura Virorum Epistolas de saciosanclo Eucharistia;
 
 M. A. FLAMIMO. XVtf 
 
 on the martyrdom of Savonarola, supposed by Roscoe tohavebecn 
 designed for Jerome of Prague (who was actually burned alive by 
 the Council of Constance), I confess, proves nothing. In the ab- 
 sence of every thing, that would point out his poems (if they were 
 now discovered for tlie first time, and divested of thenames to which 
 they are addressed, and the personal compliments which they 
 convey) to be the work of a Roman Catholic, a strong negative 
 argument would be found. Every page, it is true, abounds in na- 
 tural and pious sentiments, and in strong devotional feeling toward 
 God and the Author of our Salvation : but there is no invocation of 
 Saints; no purpose to seek for Absolution, or to submit to do Pe- 
 nance; nothing, in fine, that shows attachment to the rites, or belief 
 in the distinctive doctrines, of the Roman Catholic Church. 
 The testimony of the Acts of Paul IV, indubitably establishes 
 the fact. Vet did not Flaminio's heretical opinions dimi- 
 nish the affection of any of his friends, excepting only the bi- 
 
 mysterio ex Ecclesioesensusciiptismaiidatam testimonium. Itaquecum 
 alii, quibuscum leliginnis caussa amiciliam coluerat, atque in primis 
 Galeacius Caraciolus Vici Marchio patriam reliquissent, ipse in Ilalia 
 niansit ; neque tamen occullam censuram cft'u^it, ejus nomine passim in 
 F.pistolis, quae postea publicaise sunt, proptereaexpuncto." (Hist. VIII. 
 subfirem.) This account, however, which (as Bayle remarks) makes Fla- 
 minio more a Jansenist than a Protestant, is contradicted by Tessier, 
 in h\s Eloff.Thuan. " If we believe Jos. Simler," says he," Thuanus was 
 mistaken, when he wrote that ' Flam inio did not approve of the doctrine 
 which Luther idught in Germany:' for Simler places Flaminio among 
 tliose who, havini? embraced the Protestant religion, forced Peter Mar- 
 tyr (afterward Minister at Zurich) to follow theirexample, and renounce 
 the communion of the Church of Rome." (Bayle, Art. Flaminio, 
 
 Not. B.) Schelhorn published, in h\& Amanitalcs Hist. Eccles.W. I 170, 
 
 a Dissertation affirming Flaminio's reputed heresy, to which Tira- 
 boschi replied, in his Storia della Letter. Ital. XIII. iii. pp. 1424— 
 112". His writings were certainlypro/ii6((rf/ in the Index of the bigoted 
 Paul IV., in 1559j who, it is farther asserted, though denied by Tirabos- 
 chi, intended to have had his body disinterred and burned. The last nam- 
 ed Author confesses ; " che egli si mostrasse per qualche tempo propen- 
 so alle opinion! de'Novatori,non puo negarsi. E forse la stessa pietadel 
 Flaminio, e I'austera e innocente vita ch'ei conduceva, lo trasse suo mal- 
 grado in quel lacci ; perciocche, essendo la riforma degli abusi c I'emen- 
 dazion do' costumi il pretesto di cui vajcansi gli liretici per muover 
 g«erra alia Chiesa, non e maraviglia che alcuni uomini pii si lasciassero 
 da tali argomenti scdurre." He argues, however, that Cardinal Pole re- 
 converted him, and boasted of having thus done a great service to the 
 Chnrch. (Boscoe's Life of Leo. X., HI. 442. nut.)
 
 XVIII MEMOIU OF 
 
 got Caraflli : a striking instance of the influence of sincere 
 jMcty, accompanied by gentleness and virtue, over minds which 
 are themselves gentle and virtuous ; and such were all those, 
 which Flaminio intimately cherished. It is not surprising, there- 
 fore, that Contarini, who was acquainted with his opinions 
 (as we have already seen) before he went to Naples, should 
 in 1540, while he yet remained in'notorious communication with 
 the suspected reformers there, solicit his attendance to the Coun- 
 cil of Worms. His long study of the Scriptures, and the faci- 
 lity and elegance with which he wrote both Greek and Latin, 
 were undoubtedly additional reasons with the Cardinal for giving 
 him this invitation : but Flaminio had too good an excuse in the 
 precarious state of his health for declining it. About this time, 
 however, the society which bound him to Naples was broken up by 
 the death of Valdes ; and in the following year he yielded to a 
 summons from his old friend Cardinal Pole, then living at Viterbo, 
 to which city the Pope had sent him with the dignity of I^egate. 
 With this princely Prelate he passed the remainder of his life. 
 
 Pole was himself suspected of favouring the New Heresy ; 
 and the friends, whom he drew around him, demonstrate 
 that the suspicion was reasonably founded. In fact, his open- 
 ing character was very different from that which distinguish- 
 ed him in his later years. Amiable, generous, and well 
 intentioned, but of a weak mind and necessarily influenced by 
 the superior intelligence by which he was surrounded ; after 
 death had deprived him of some of his youthful associates, and the 
 persecution of the Church had dispersed the remainder, he probably 
 thought (like many others) to atone for early errors by ina-eased 
 severity toward those, who had erred in common with himself. 
 Flattery, skilfully applied, would interest his pride in supporting 
 Popery ; and the union of all these causes rendered him, in spite 
 of his natural gentleness, a bigot and a persecutor. At the pre- 
 sent time, however, his associates were Carncsecchi, Ochino, the 
 ^Marchioness Pescara, and Flaminio, to whose opinion in reli- 
 ligious matters he paid implicit deference ; as he confesses, in a 
 ktter to Contarini, Dec. 1541. " I pass the rest of the day in
 
 M. A. FLAMINIO. XIX 
 
 the holy and useful company of our Carnesecchi and fllarc-An- 
 tonio Fhmiinio. I call it ' useful,' because in the evening 
 Marc-Antonio gives a repast to me, and to the best part of my 
 family, de illo ciho qui non perit, in such a manner that I have 
 not known wlien have I felt more comfort or edification." It is 
 true that, after Flaminio's death, Pole is represented by Cardinal 
 Pallavicino to have boasted, that ' he had turned Flaminio from 
 his errors, and reconciled him to the Church.' Schelhorn, in his 
 Dialogue on the subject, pointed out the suspicious omission 
 of this memorable occurrence in Beccatelli's Life of Pole, and 
 is answered by Tiraboschi, who gives the passage as it stood 
 m the Italian original, but has no argument to advance 
 in it's support except the respectability of the Writer. 
 Many authors assert, that Pole's heresy was of very early date. 
 Gloster Ridley especially, in his able ' Review of Phillips' Life 
 of Cardinal Pole,' disposes in a very summary way of his pre. 
 tended return tathe Romish doctrines. "Thesceds of affection for 
 them (the Profestants) were early planted from a similitude of man- 
 ncrs, wliicli united him to those v/hocould not approvethchypocrisy 
 and corruptions of the Church. This drew on a mutual regard be- 
 twixt him and Erasmus, and inclined the latter to recommend him 
 to the acquaintance of John a Lasco : this led Pole to single him 
 out at his first studying at Padua, where he was then emi- 
 nent for poetry, eloquence, and philosophy. At the same time 
 Peter Martyr studied at Padua with (great reputation, where it is 
 probable Pole's 'known acquaintance with him commenced. Of 
 these four, Erasmus is represented as laying theeggs, which Lu- 
 ther hatched; Peter Martyr and John a Lasco were professedly 
 Protestants ; and Flaminio, if Mr. Philips will give us leave to 
 credit a Pope more than himself, in spite of Pole's pretended 
 conversion of him, lived a secret favourer'of them, and died in 
 their faith."* Nevertheless, he attended Pole to Trent; both in 
 the year 1542-3, and at the close of the year 1545, When after 
 
 * P. 139. See Thuanus, " Paulum tunc, &e." Quid de eo senserit 
 Paulas IV., paiet ex Catalogo Hiereticorum et.Libroium Proliibitorum 
 ejus auspiciis Koma; anno I559conflato cditoque. In eo enim damnan- 
 lurM. A.Flaminii Pariplirases et Comment. in Psalmos, item Litters et 
 Carmina omnia. (Schclliorn. Am«nit. Hist. Ecclet. 11.38.) 
 f
 
 XXn MEMOIR, &C. 
 
 The Reformers were equally sensible of tlie value of his 
 name, and claimed liirn with as much earnestness as their oppo- 
 nents : nor did they spare the arms, which the Pontiff's intem- 
 perate zeal had supplied against his own cause. To this very 
 day, neither party will renounce their pretensions : so lovely is 
 the example of genius clothed in humility, and walking only iti 
 the paths of peace ! 80 blessed is the memory of the just ! 
 
 The news of Flaminio's death occasioned unusual sorrow in 
 every city of Italy. The learned and the virtuous strove toge- 
 ther, which should pay the greatest respect to his memory. The 
 letters and poems, written on this occasion, are collected in the 
 Comini edition of his Works. The Author of the fJist. Ital. 
 IM, says, that ' the letters of Piero Vettori, Pole, Ricci, and 
 Mahuzio can hardly be read without tears :' and to these he adds 
 one from Paleario to tlie Cardinal Maffei (so often mentioned, 
 with honour and affection, by Flaminio in his poems) and the 
 Cardinal's answer; in which he observes, tlwt 'his death was so pi- 
 ous and christianlike, it would be unpiety to doubt of his hav- 
 ing attained everlasting happiness.' 
 
 " In Flaminio," remarks Roscoe, " we have the simplicity 
 and tenderness of Catullus without his licentiousness. By those 
 who arc acquainted with his writings it will not be thought extra- 
 vagant to assert, that many of them, in the species of composition 
 to which they arc confined, were never excelled. The question 
 addressed by him to a friend Tcspecting the writings of Catullus ; 
 Suando lerjycte, non vi sentite voi liqnefare il cuore di dolcezza ? 
 may with confidence be repeated to all those, who are conversant 
 with his works." (Life of Lorenzo de' Medici, II. 110. not.) 
 
 To these, it would be easy to add numerous other Trstimd- 
 iria from the pen both of contemporary and of succeeding Writ, 
 ers, whose praise would shed lustre over even the most brilliant 
 literary renown. But the Ulenioir is already, perhaps, sufficient- 
 ly protracted ; and the reader, it is itldrc (han [irobablC, will be 
 
 glad to exchange the BiograplVcr 'foi- 'the JPbct.' ' ' ' '' 
 
 E. W. B.
 
 FIFTY 
 
 SELECT POEMS, 
 
 &c. 
 
 I. ( I. 114. ) 
 
 TO THE CARDINAL 
 
 ALEXANDER FARNESE. 
 
 Thou gem of Rome's nobility ! 
 !No more thy graver labours ply. 
 But dwell awhile, all cares forgot. 
 In this thy bard's delicious cot. 
 Enough of peril hast thou met, 
 Of piercing cold and burning heat 5 
 The mighty Rhine and blue Garonne 
 Have heard thy courser hurrying on : 
 Old Taio's stream hath seen thee ride 
 Unwearied by his golden tide, 
 The message high of Heaven to bring, 
 And dictate peace to chief and king.
 
 2 
 
 The Fauns and Nymph? have shrunk aghast. 
 To hear thy bugle's threatening blast ; 
 And view thee, clad in iron dress, 
 I'p Alpine rocks and mountains press : 
 Till planted firm by Charles' side, 
 Thou turn'd'st the war's invading tide. 
 But rest at length ; enough is done : 
 Italia's peace thy toil hath won. 
 
 Now while the dog-star's raging heat 
 Is scorching earth and heaven, 'tis sweet 
 To bid tlie wrangling world farewell ; 
 In Nature's easy bowers to dwell 
 (As Scipio did in better days). 
 And change for love a nation's praise. 
 Farnese ! wilt thou tarry here 
 With one, whose love is true and dear ? 
 We shall not lack the sacred flow 
 Of classic verse. Here Virgil's glow. 
 Here Homer's truth our hearts shall fire ; 
 And memory play with Flaccus' lyre . 
 Here grots invite, and streamlets glide ; 
 Good nature here and mirth abide ; 
 Nor wilt thou in the dance disdain 
 Or Pholoe's step, or Damon's strain. 
 The huntsmen, too, with hawk and hound 
 Are skiil'd their (juarry to surround. 
 But thou and I will better love 
 To tread in peace the silent grove, 
 And mark tlie trout, like meteors bright, 
 Glance through the river's silver light ;
 
 3 
 
 Or watch the leverets lithe and gay 
 
 In fearless trust around us play j 
 
 Or hear yon warbler pour her voice, 
 
 To bid her stranger guests rejoice. 
 
 What human art can frame a nest 
 
 Like this, still warm with Love's own breast ? 
 
 Her gems did proud Cornelia press. 
 
 Did Niobe her slain caress, 
 
 With holier warmth than tliat, which stirred 
 
 'The mother's heart in this poor bird ? 
 
 Then quit, dear Prince, imperial Rome, 
 •Obey the Muse, and hither come. 
 IBut bring not all the client crowd 
 That tlrongs thy hall, nor statesmen proud: 
 !1VI;tTeius may tliy steps attend, 
 Mirandula our honour'd friend, 
 .'And Romolo. These chosen few 
 (Can relish Nature's pleasures true, 
 /And will not on Benaco's shore 
 iSigh for the town :— but bring no more.
 
 II. ( 1. no. ) 
 TO LIT. SPERANZO, 
 
 Unwearied still from day to day 
 Thou digg'st in learning's rugged mine, 
 Nor lieed'st the social joys that shine 
 
 Like sunbeams in tliy way ; 
 And yet the more thou toil'st to know, 
 Still deeper furrows mark thy brow. 
 
 The boast of Greece, wise Socrates, 
 Labour'd not thus : he loved in play 
 With boys to while some hours awayj 
 
 And, studious of his ease, 
 Pythagoras with musings high 
 Mix'd tales of idle minstrelsy. 
 
 And thus, his Laclius at his side. 
 Great Scipio cuU'd with curious hand 
 The gems of Lucrine's polish'd strand, 
 
 And laid the world asidej 
 Until his spirit scem'd to take 
 The calmness of that lovely lake.
 
 Then cease, Spcranzo ! to explore 
 The depth of inimateiial thuigs, 
 The fountain whence day's lustre springs j 
 
 And waste the night no more 
 fn asking why the tides arise, 
 Attracted hy her moonlight skies. 
 
 Rather, while youth and health allow. 
 Disport awhile in pleasure's train ; 
 Or raise tliine old enchanting strain, 
 
 And sooth Flaminio now. 
 Who mourns for Chloe's treachery. 
 And dreads new wars from Lydia's eye.
 
 6 
 
 III. ( I. 121. ) 
 TO ills OWN ESTATE. 
 
 Oh ! tliat 1 liiul your vigorous wings. 
 Ye joyful biixls ! tliat I might flee 
 
 To hills and dales and forest-springs, 
 So dear to every Muse and me. 
 
 Ah, hajjpy hills ! ah, dew-bright caves ! 
 
 Ah, blessed change of sun and shade ! 
 Ah, music sweet of ripj)ling waves, 
 
 And banks for poet's cushion made ! 
 
 How often hath my spirit sought 
 
 Along those walks of peace to stray, 
 
 And flinging down it's load of thought. 
 Rejoiced like merriest kid to play ! 
 
 How oft to every Muse hath cried, 
 
 ' Oh ! — if I love thee more thaii life— 
 
 ' Hide me in Nature's bosom! hide, 
 ' Far from the din of civic strife !'
 
 7 
 
 IV. ( I. 122. ) 
 TO ALEXANDER FARNESE, 
 
 The rage of summer's sultry star 
 
 Is tcraper'd by the shorten'd day : 
 
 And softer winds are breathing sweet 
 
 Through russet grove and cornfield gay; 
 
 As Autumn, crown'd with puri)Ie vines, 
 Wanders along his pleasant way. 
 
 Forth from her yellow orchard-bounds 
 Pomona's train his presence greet. 
 
 And all the vineyard's merry swarm 
 
 Rush out to give him welcome meet ; 
 
 Loud ring the circling laugh and song. 
 And sound the dancer's busy feet. 
 
 Fair Venus' self, and Love, and Mirth 
 Are all abroad ; but Thou, opprest 
 
 By empire's whelming cares, still keep'st 
 
 The odious town. Now East, aow West, 
 
 Thine active spirit flies, nor deigns 
 To taste the luxury of rest. 
 
 Yet, dear Farnese, pause awhile, 
 
 Though Turk or Briton storm amain : 
 
 A few short days of ease and joy 
 
 Will not be lavish'd here in vain, 
 
 But send thee back with nerve and soul 
 More vigorous to the world again.
 
 8 
 
 V. ( 1. ,-_.,. ) 
 TO HIS OWN ESTATE. 
 
 Dear mansion, once my Father's home ! 
 
 Sweet farm, his pride and joy ; 
 Ye could not shield, ye could not save, 
 When he was carried to the grave. 
 
 His little orphan-hoy ! 
 
 A stranger came with iron hand, 
 
 Lord of that evil day : 
 And drove me forth with weeping eye, 
 To seek, through toil and poverty, 
 
 My miserable way. 
 
 But now my gracious Prince restores 
 
 The poet's home again : 
 He comes, with his victorious reed. 
 To teach the river, mount, and mead 
 
 A proud yet grateful strain. 
 
 He comes, in yon dear latticed room 
 To dream of childhood's days; 
 
 He comes, beneath his father's trees 
 
 To mix with rustic melodies 
 The great Farnese's praise. 
 
 Break fcjrth, my father's blessed home ! 
 
 Thou prize of minstrelsy! 
 He comes — thy good old master's son — 
 Up ? with thy tuneful benison : 
 
 Give praise and melody !
 
 9 
 
 VI. ( I. 120. ) 
 TO yiNTOMO MIRAXDULA. 
 
 Mlrandulu, my honour'd friend ! 
 Will this long visit never end ? 
 Yet thirst of power, or lust of gain, 
 Can ne'er in Rome thy feet detain. 
 Come, hie thee where Dovada's groves 
 Give to the Muse what most she loves, 
 Leisure and peace. That happy spot, 
 Farnese's gift, what boasts it not ? 
 Can Italy show hill or plain 
 More bright with vines, or rich in grain ? 
 Come, let us seek that dear retreat 
 While Autumn spreads his treasures sweet. 
 And Bacchus smiles, and hand in hand 
 Pomona leads the Sister-band. 
 And now I seem, by spreading shade 
 Or fountain cool supinely laid. 
 To hear thee tell what hand divine 
 Painted the cloud-born rainbow's line ; 
 Why falls beneath a genial star 
 Frost-harden'd hail ; whence roused to war, 
 The foaming billows leap on high. 
 And hurl defiance to the sky ; 
 Why iron lurks in barren soil, 
 While here the streams yield golden spoilj 
 There gems reward the delver's toil. 
 c
 
 10 
 
 01), happy thou ! who thus can'st look 
 In Nature's close mysterious book, 
 Aiul all her secret workings trace 
 With more than old Athenian grace ! 
 Who hears thee teach what Greece forgot 
 So courteously, and loves thee not ? 
 Who hears — and does not place thee high, 
 A star in Art's heroic sky. 
 Among the men of mighty mind, 
 Whose powers were used to bless mankind ?
 
 11 
 
 VII. ( I. 132. ) 
 
 ON THE VERSES OF 
 
 FILIPPO OBERMAIRO. 
 
 Sweet verses, which the sweetest Muse 
 Drops, bahny as Castaha's clews. 
 
 In Philip's dreaming ear ? 
 Ye o'er the care-worn heart diffuse 
 
 Light, hope, and cheer. 
 
 Before your gladsome measures fly 
 The bitter tear, the anxious sigh ; 
 
 As tempests flee away. 
 When Zephyr waves o'er earth and sky 
 
 His banners gay. 
 
 Sweet verses, full of tenderness. 
 Where Loves pour out their fond caress. 
 
 Where Graces brightly beam ; 
 Flow on, earth's gentler souls to bless. 
 
 Thou nectarous stream !
 
 12 
 
 VIII. ( 1. i:«. ) 
 
 TO FILIPPO BEROALDO. 
 
 While thou, my Beroaklo, teU'st 
 On history's resounding string 
 
 Of Bentivoglio's hardihood, 
 
 Of Julius bathed in Latian blood. 
 
 Of restless Gaul's invading flood 
 
 Down from our barriers thundering : 
 
 Or show'st at large the patriot's might, 
 Purging with steel his native land 
 From the fierce Turk's victorious powers ;— 
 The Queen who rules Idalia's bowers. 
 And decks her chains with si)arkiing flowers. 
 Lays on my liarp a lighter hand. 
 
 She suffers not the trumpet's tone, 
 Nor lets my easy Muse aspire 
 
 To think of Thebes begirt with foes. 
 
 How Rome's first power and grandeur rose. 
 
 Of hoary Priam's thousand woes, 
 
 And Ilion wrapp'd in Grecian fire. 
 
 Love, love lies heavy on my heart — 
 
 Sweet, hopeless love !— for Chlcie's hair 
 
 Enchains me thus, and Cliloe's eye 
 
 Dooms me to doubt and misery. 
 
 You sing of wars you felt not : I 
 
 Trifle with bondage, and despair.
 
 13 
 
 IX. ( I. 134. ) 
 THE PRAISE OF MyJA'TLU. 
 
 Happy Mautuu ! brilliant eye 
 Of our lovely Italy ! 
 Famed among the nations far 
 For thy gallant deeds in war, 
 Famed for all the arts that grace 
 Peace and Quiet's dwelling-place ! 
 Wealth and Valour guard thy towers, 
 Learning loves thy happy bowers ; 
 Plenty strews thy smiling plain 
 With flowers, and fruit, and golden grain ; 
 Mincio, now by meadows green, 
 Thridding now his sedgy screen, 
 Murmm's as he steals along 
 Many an old remember'd song; 
 And thy glassy lake supplies 
 Stranger barks, and merchandise. 
 Why of all thy churches tell ? 
 Halls, where proudest kings may dwell ? 
 Why thy noble ways recount ? 
 And thy steep embattled mount, 
 Darken'd by no bloody stain. 
 Relic of rebellion's reign ? 
 
 Happy Mantua ! brilliant eye 
 Of our lovely Italy ! 
 Happiest that a noble son. 
 The courteous prince Castiglion, 
 In these rude times hath lived to spread 
 Laurels o'er his mother's head !
 
 14 
 
 X. ( I. 1:55. ) 
 TO CESARE FLAMINIO. 
 
 Nay, gentle kinsman, tell me not 
 
 Of many a dear retreat 
 On green Campania's shadowy plain ; 
 
 Of Genoa's grottoes sweet; 
 Of vales, where Tiber steals along 
 
 With silent silver feet. 
 
 It nmst not he. These generous halls 
 
 Still eharm me, still delay ; 
 In fancy's ear sweet Sirmio's bard 
 
 Still pours his love-sick lay : 
 Here would I gladly live, and here 
 
 Contented fade away. 
 
 Oh, hospitable soil ! the nurse 
 
 Of many a tuneful son, 
 Whose wreaths still deck their mother's brow 
 
 In guiltless contests won, 
 Receive a stranger's grateful strain, 
 
 A poet's benison. 
 
 But thou, my wretched native land, 
 
 Farewell — a long farewell ? 
 Where Discord walks her nightly round, 
 
 I must not, will not dwell. 
 Thy streets with thine own blood are red : 
 
 Farewell — a long farewell \
 
 16 
 
 XI. ( I 141. ) 
 
 TO THE yJIR. 
 
 Thou, gentle Air ! that all unseen 
 Murmurest through the woodlands green ; 
 Go, seek my Reginald, and fling 
 O'er his hot brow thy cooling Ming. 
 
 Go, brace each languid nerve, and rest 
 On his dim eye and panting breast ; 
 Lest here, beneath Italia's sky. 
 Our darling guest should droop and die. 
 
 Go, gentle Air ! So the fierce North 
 Shall ne'er take arras to drive thee forth. 
 Nor sultry South winds seek for prey 
 In the green bowers that bless thy sway !
 
 XII. ( I. 145. ) 
 
 TO ACHILL. DOCClllO. 
 
 Then all was vain ; the prayer, the vow, 
 
 The hopes ihat mock'd her wretched son '. 
 Tlicn tears must be thy portion now— 
 For Julia to the dust is gone- 
 Quick unavailing tears, pour'd on her burial stone ! 
 
 Not this such grief as fill'd thine eye, 
 When Pholcie heard in silence coy 
 The song, that pierced her lattice high ; 
 Or, jealous of her darling boy, 
 Drove thee with fierce reproach far from the 
 
 bower of joy. 
 
 These are the tears, Love cannot stay; 
 Yet are they gracious drops, a dew 
 Medicinal thy pangs t' allay : 
 
 Soon shall their balm thy peace renew. 
 Though now despair and woe thy fainting soul 
 
 subdue. 
 
 Ah ! why invidious fling to heaven 
 
 The vain regret, the ceaseless tear ? 
 Why slight the aids that God has given — 
 The sober thought, the reason clear. 
 True remedies for all the griefs we suffer here,
 
 17 
 
 To die, man's universal lot, 
 
 Awaits alike the weak and brave ! 
 Call, mourner, eall ! They answer not — 
 Nor old, nor young, nor prince, nor slave ; 
 But thou must join them there, and hush thee in 
 
 the grave. 
 
 Why vainly strive, why idly mourn ? 
 
 Why impious chide 'gainst heaven's decree ? 
 She ne'er again can cross that bourn j 
 And, if her soul still conscious be. 
 Haply thy lost one now mourns pitiful for thee. 
 
 B
 
 IS 
 
 XIII. ( I. i4(;. ) 
 
 TO CESARE FLAMINIO. 
 
 Caesar ! let not thy wistful eye 
 
 On lieai)s of treasure dwell, 
 Nor war's seducing pageantry 
 
 Thy kindling bosom swell ; 
 Nor covet sculptured columns tall, 
 That grace a prince's hall. 
 
 These things let vulgar souls admite !' 
 
 Thy better wish shall be 
 To rule thyself, and nought desire 
 
 Which God withholds from thee. 
 Little of earthly goods we need : 
 Content is wealth indeed. 
 
 More than all Araby can give, 
 
 Or India's mines can pour, 
 Hath he, whose soul hath learn'd to live 
 
 Without a wish for more ; 
 Who deems the popular Goddess, Fame, 
 But what she is — a name. 
 
 Til' insatiate mind !— No curse so dread 
 
 E'er wasted man. Oh, fly 
 That withering curse ! Lo ! time liath sped 
 
 E'en now death hovers nigh ! 
 And what's the difference, in the grave. 
 Between a prince and slave ?
 
 19 
 II. 
 
 I. ;( I. ICi. ) 
 TO JERONYMO TURRIAJVO, 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF VITTOBIA COLONNA. 
 
 Why, Turriano, bkl me set 
 Bounds to my heart's profound regret ? 
 Vittoria to tlie grave is gone, 
 Who loved me as the light that shone 
 In her own eyes. Aye, she is dead. 
 Whose equal ne'er the sun survey'd ! 
 Oh heavenly M^it ! Oh learning rare ! 
 Oh spotless mmd, and manners fair ! 
 Oh loveliness of form and face. 
 Replete with majesty and grace ; 
 Born with earth's aoUlest souls to dwell, 
 And using fortune's gifts so well 1 
 How did her tuneful spirit soar 
 O'er all the bards, that sang of yore : 
 Whether she struck the woeful chord. 
 Low-breathing o'er her buried Lord, 
 Or rising heavenward bore away 
 The soul that slept iu dull cold clay ; 
 Or whether to th' Eternal King 
 Her pious soul aspired to sing. 
 Or sought in meditation sweet 
 To warble at her Saviour's feet !
 
 20 
 
 But Thou, relentless Death, whose ear 
 Like A(h*iu's surges will not hear, 
 Whose hand unpitying' will not spare 
 Aught that earth boasts of good or fair; 
 Thou ne'er hast seized a noble prey, 
 Nor left such grief to mark thy way ! 
 
 Alas for Italy ! Her light 
 Is quench'd in everlasting night ! 
 Where hast thou fled, Colonna ? Far 
 Above yon blue vault's brightest star, 
 Thou risest on tlie glorious road. 
 Which the low vsun hath never trod ; 
 And, clothed in virtue's spotless vest, 
 Find'st with thy God a perfect rest. 
 
 Enough, my friend ! My plaint is o'er; 
 I mourn Vittoria's death no more : 
 But bid my Muse, my spirit rise. 
 And follow to the blessed skies. 
 
 ■ ;»k! I»)iu>ff T 
 
 'i'\'Ur, 0*1 Oil : -.'f ^Mlfsh '!' 
 
 ; /i:i-) hlo') iUA) ij'r M\"A< imU . . 
 
 12(ii/I h;frr»f'f ';{) ot 'loiilndv/ •i( 
 
 •iOi'{ 1;: ol(hfj7^ oT
 
 21 
 
 II. ( I. ifi«. ) 
 
 TO ULYSS. DASSUNO, 
 
 My Muse, away ! and greet Ulysses avcII — 
 Not him I mean, of whom the poets tell. 
 Calypso's loved one : but the youtli, whom more 
 The Virgin-sisters doat on, than of yore 
 They loved Catullus, when (a mirthful child) 
 He trod Aonia's groves and mountains wild, 
 And held their souls enraptured. Go, and greet 
 Ulysses well, and say his converse sweet 
 Will medicine be to poor Flaminio's mind, 
 -Whose powers the fiery chains of fever. bind. 
 When will his tender voice my wants supply ? 
 When will his looks refresh my aching eye;! . 
 He was not born or bred in savage den : 
 Milk was his food, his sires were gentle men. 
 Why then, more stubborn than the gnarled oak, 
 Wliy then, more hard than Adria's printless rock, 
 Delays he still, and trusts my life will be 
 Secure without his presence ? Woe is me ! 
 He little thinks on what a couch the while 
 My limbs are laid, on what a burning pile ! 
 
 Then fly, my Muse, and bid him spurn delay. 
 And bring his lute to charm disease away j 
 As Orpheus erst made Hell's loud barking cease, 
 And luU'd the wondering Furies into peace.
 
 22 
 
 III. ( 1. 174. ) 
 TO MATTIL DJNDOLO, 
 
 Oh ! Winter, pleasanter than Spriiig, 
 When 'twas my Imppy lot to share 
 
 My Dandolo's discourses sweet, 
 And hospitable care ! 
 
 Whene'er my memory i-ecalls 
 
 Those jovial nights, tluit dear fireside- 
 It's feast of learning, sense, and wit — 
 
 Tears from my eyelids glide : 
 
 And still shall flow that warm regret. 
 And all things dix?ar and dull remain, 
 
 Until those envied joys I share, 
 And bless that roof again. 
 
 But while by fates unkind withheld. 
 Far from thy sight I sadly dwell, 
 
 I pray thee lot thy lettei*s sooth 
 A heart that loves thee well. 
 
 Although thy country claims thy time, 
 
 Tlic truest zeal some leisure finds ; 
 And what should best a statesman cheer ? 
 . ' jThe play of courtly minds.
 
 23 
 
 IV. ( ,. u;i. ) 
 
 to LODOVICO STROZZA. 
 
 Strozza ! from his pastoral halls 
 By clear Bcnaco's lake, 
 
 Tliy friend and bard Flaminio calls- 
 Awake, awake ! 
 
 Poor Strozza aye in palaces 
 
 'Mid civic tumult lives, 
 And forfeits the true luxuries 
 
 That Nature gives. 
 
 Awake ! and burst thy prison-gates ; 
 Be wise, and scorn delay : 
 
 For here the Muse thy presence waits- 
 Obey, obey ! 
 
 Here will we share poetic joy, 
 And converse half-divine ; 
 
 Or Virgil shall thy hours employ, 
 Catullus mine. 
 
 The lake or garden shall inspire 
 Thy verses flowing free, 
 
 And I will strike my grateful lyre 
 To thee, to thee,
 
 24 
 
 Gibciti ! for thy bounty gave 
 All that is sparkling here ; 
 
 The home my spirit long'd to liavc. 
 And loves so tlcar. 
 
 When e'er hatli Muse her pillow made 
 In such a bower of bliss j 
 
 Or world-sick spirit found a shade 
 So sweet as this ?
 
 25 
 
 V^ ( II. u\o. ) 
 TO FRANCESCO TURIUAJVO. 
 
 I i)ray thee, by the counsels sage 
 Of Terence's and Tally's page. 
 My Turrian, quit Giberti's dome j 
 And spur to this my quiet home, 
 Ere the red morn from herb and spray 
 Hath suck'd night's fertile dews away : 
 For here, beneath my classic grove, 
 I'll bring thee viands fit for Jove. 
 
 A lucid stream beneath thy feet 
 It's trout shall yield thee fresh and sweet : 
 My farm shall eggs and curds supply, 
 And all a dairy's luxury ; 
 And on the rustic board I'll set 
 Rich melons clothed with golden net. 
 And nuts half-hid in russet shell. 
 And honey stored in waxen cell. 
 Yon aged swain shall sing the while 
 Sweet ballads of the olden stile : 
 And, graceful as Diana's train. 
 His daughters swell the choral strain ; 
 Or, circling us, the measure beat 
 With jocund hearts and glancing feet. 
 
 When noontide splendors rage on high. 
 And sleep is stealing o'er thine eye, 
 
 E
 
 26 
 
 I'll lead thee to a quiet cave. 
 
 O'er which the ivy's tresses wave : 
 
 No secret damp nor fetid air 
 
 E'er cherish'd lurking fever there, 
 
 But shadowy laurels o'er thy liead 
 
 Their whispering leaves shall careful spread. 
 
 Thy fancy's dream of pleasure o'er, 
 
 We'll turn to Virgil's silvan lore ; 
 
 Or list the Syracusan's tale, 
 
 Whose grace and sweetness never fail. 
 
 And is it eve so soon ? Again 
 We'll saunter on yon grassy plain : 
 Witli supper light our day shall cea»e — 
 And tlicn, dear friend, return in peace ?
 
 27 
 
 VI. ( II. 18f,. ) 
 
 TO CniilSTOPIJ. LOKGOLIEU, 
 
 While you, dear Lorigolieu, still find 
 Your choicest joys in Tully's mind, 
 Or all the evening fetter'd sit 
 By Andrea's verse or Bembo's wit, 
 I too delightful vigils keep 
 On haughty Genoa's rampart steep : 
 Now in our Stephen's garden laid, 
 I study in the pleasant shade 
 The riches of Stagira's sage. 
 Now turn Catullus' sweeter page j 
 Or, while the gay birds carol round. 
 Inspired by the melodious sound 
 Beneath some laurel tree I lie. 
 And sing old tales of Arcady. 
 Our Sauli by my side the while 
 Still emulates your glorious toil, 
 And urges Tully o'er and o'er 
 With all your zeal and half your lore. 
 But when the insect hum is still. 
 And sunbeams rest on height and hill, 
 We saunter forth, and climb the steep 
 That beetles o'er the purple deep : 
 And thence we drop the painted float, 
 Or idly watch each little boat,
 
 28 
 
 That steals ujjoii the tranquil bay 
 With snow-white sail and })enn()n gay ; 
 And vainly wish our life may be 
 As peaceful as yon blessed sea, 
 No passions rude to lift it's tide, 
 No wreck of good resolves to hide. 
 
 And is not this a day of joy ? 
 Can worthier cares your friends employ ? 
 Oh ! comcj dear Longolieu, and grant 
 The only boon your pupils want : 
 Come, bless our sweet abode, and share 
 Flaminio's joy, and Sauli's care.
 
 29 
 
 VII. ( II. 190. ) 
 TO DOMENICO SAULL 
 
 'Tis ever thus. Behind the good 
 
 The shafts of envy fly, 
 And none can grieve that clouds are spread, 
 Dear Sauli ! round thy honour'd head, 
 
 So much as I. 
 
 And yet I chiefly hail thee now. 
 
 Seeing that gentle mind 
 (Though tumults fierce around thee press) 
 Rest in it's own good consciousness, 
 
 And quiet find. 
 
 Thus hold thy course, and Innocence 
 
 At last shall burst to light j 
 E'en as yon hidden orb of day. 
 Soon as the clouds are chased away. 
 
 Shines out more bright.
 
 30 
 
 VIII. ( II. 192. ) 
 
 TO OCTAVIO, SURKAMED ' FATUER: 
 
 Father, Father, come, we pray ; 
 Join a hand of comrades gay ! 
 Pole, Priuh, I, and all 
 For our dearest Father call. 
 Fly from summer's noxious heats, 
 Fly from Rome's infected streets ! 
 Here, in sweet Viterbo, play 
 Zephyrs cool through all the day : 
 Can'st thou find a healthier shore ? 
 Scek'st thou friends, that love thee more ? 
 Trust me, thou wilt never meet 
 Truer hearts, or home so sweet. 
 Why then. Father, tarry yet ? 
 Does that lofty pile, beset 
 With it's countless books, delay thee ? 
 Come, good Father, come, we pray thee ! 
 Here thou shalt have books enow. 
 Ranged around, above, below, 
 Latin, Greek— enow to keep 
 Twenty Plinies fast asleep. 
 All the day, and all the night. 
 Eyes may read, and fingers write ; 
 Yet we'll furnish new supplies 
 For all thy fingers, all thine eyes.
 
 31 
 
 Come, sweet Father, quit thy books ; 
 Come with those dear honied looks : 
 Scorn not hearts so fond, so true ! 
 Come, and ancient times renew. 
 Lest Ave all thy victors prove 
 In thine own best science — love.
 
 32 
 
 IX. ( II. 203. ) 
 
 TO JERONYMO PONTAKO, 
 
 Far— far, my native Imola, from thee 
 And all thy dear-loved fields, I sometime dwell 
 Where gaily o'er her Adriatic sea 
 The palaces of queenly Venice swell; 
 And now beneath Rome's haughty citadel. 
 And now I linger in thy green domains, 
 
 Caserta!loveliestgem,thatdecksCampania'splains. 
 
 Reproach mc not, sweet friend, for this ; nor deem 
 That in my filial heart a stranger-town 
 Or new-found landscape e'er can lovely seem, 
 As those that from my birth I've call'd my own : 
 It is my very fondness, that hath thrown 
 Flaminio thence, and made him devious rove 
 
 An exile from the land he ne'er can cease to love. 
 
 1 could not bear to see my Mother's breast 
 Pierced by her children's impious sword ; her 
 
 halls 
 All streaming with the life- blood of her best 
 And wisest ; nor her desecrated walls 
 Writhing in flames, or echoing the calls 
 Of envy, madness, jealousy, and hate — 
 
 The fiends, that round the tent of civil discord wait.
 
 33 
 
 I cannot bear e'en now to think of these ; 
 And when their rumour finds me out, I cry — 
 Oh ! India's farthest bounds, or Orcades, 
 Grant me a refuge from such misery ! 
 Oh Gods ! in mercy rather let me die. 
 Than hear poor Imola's distracting talc. 
 
 And know no prayers of mine can for her peace 
 
 avail !
 
 34 
 
 X. ( 11. 205. ) 
 TO VINCENTIO GllERlO. 
 
 Then busy Rumour spake the truth : 
 
 My long suspense is o'er ! 
 Dear as the light to these sad eyes, 
 Vincentio from his comrade flies, 
 
 Flies to return no more. 
 
 'Tis ever thus. Mv loved ones all 
 
 Or die, or thus depart! 
 But now 1 may not urge thy stay : 
 Go, duty bids thee haste away 
 
 To cheer thy mother's heart. 
 
 She haply, in her lonely hall 
 
 Still watching, still beguiled. 
 
 Is pining with a mother's cares ; 
 
 And wearying heaven with ceaseless j)rayer.s 
 For thee, her absent child. 
 
 Be dry, be proud, ye tearful eyes ! 
 
 Poor widow'd heart, rejoice! 
 Thy gracious son returns, and thou 
 Shalt crown again his manly brow. 
 
 And bless his cheerful voice.
 
 35 
 
 Rejoice ! for thy delighted hands 
 
 Shall deck his j)roiniscd bride ; 
 And range, ere long, around thy chair 
 A prattling group of faces fair. 
 
 Their grandame's joy and pride. 
 
 And when the hour of death is come. 
 Thy drooping soul shall lie 
 
 Upon thy children's faithful breast ; 
 
 Through life's long evening trebly blest. 
 Yet well content to die.
 
 39 
 
 XI. ( II. oox ) 
 
 TO JERONVMO FRACASTORIO. 
 
 Fracastor ! skill'd alike by song, 
 Or potent medicine, to prolong 
 Man's fainting life — ah ! see'st thou not 
 Thy friend Flaminio's wretched lot ? 
 No food his sickly taste can please ; 
 No slumber brings his eyelids ease : 
 His limbs are shrunk, his cheek is pale, 
 Alike his strength and spirits fail. 
 The Muse, whom erst he loved so well, 
 Now strikes in vain her wonted shell; 
 In vain his friends sweet converse try, 
 He hears, but gives them no reply : 
 He cannot bear day's glaring light, 
 But loaths and fears the long dark night. 
 
 Help, kind and gentle friend ! Thy skill, 
 If skill can aught, his pulse may still : 
 Or, if no herb hath power t' allay 
 The fire that eats his life away. 
 Invoke thy patron Deity 
 With magic verse; and ask him why 
 He suffers thus a laurell'd brow, 
 Where inspiration used to glow, 
 To droop into the dust, and fade 
 Beneath the grave's approaclilng shade ?
 
 37 
 
 Say ; " What avails it, that he roved 
 " With thee in infancy, and loved 
 " More than his life Castalia's flood, 
 " Though all that life was pure and good ? 
 
 " Hear from the caves of Helicon 
 " Fracastor's prayer, thy favour'd son ! 
 " Hear from green Cynthus' depths, and save 
 " Flaminio from th' oblivious grave ! 
 " So shall Fracastor's grateful lay 
 " His Patron's gracious aid repay: 
 " And tell the vv^onders of thy birth, 
 " Thy course in heaven, thy sway on earth ; 
 " Till rustic swains thy name ^dore, 
 " And deck thy shrine with wreaths, and hymn 
 
 thee ^s of yore!" 
 
 Hit nUYiil-
 
 38 
 III. 
 
 I. (hi. 211. ) 
 TO STEFANO SAULL 
 
 Fear not, dear Sauli, nor complain : 
 Flaminio lives, and rhymes again. 
 Soon as Rome's noxious air I fled. 
 And on my mountain-breezes fed, 
 Health nerved at once my languid frame 5 
 My colour, strength, and spirits came : 
 Sleep stole upon the watchful eye. 
 Which pillow soft, and drowsy sigh 
 Of the dull stream, and Lethe's flower 
 In vain had woo'd to my sad bower ! 
 Farewell, Romagna ! fare thee well ! 
 Henceforth in these dear woods I dwell. 
 If joy sits at my humble board, 
 Though but with pears and olives stored ; 
 If life in lowly cot is sweet. 
 Though strange to fame, nor dreads to meet 
 (Wrapp'd in rude cloak) the winter's cold. 
 Why should I covet silk, or gold ? 
 Why for the halls of princes yields 
 A fool's exchange — my own sweet field ? 
 
 But thou, whom all the honours proud 
 Of ancestry lift o'er the crowd,
 
 39 
 
 Whom thine own vh'tue makes to shine 
 Among our nobles' loftiest line ; 
 Thou, too, hast wisely fled the jar 
 And pressure rude of civic war. 
 Now in the shade of laurels green. 
 Now roving citron-groves between, 
 Thou tastest all the sweets, that please 
 The virtuous best, of letter'd ease : 
 Now by some cool clear fountain laid. 
 Where soft airs fan the verdant shade. 
 Thou tracest Nature's secret springs, 
 Fol lowest the stars' strange wanderings ; 
 Or searchest out with moral eye 
 What things to follow, what to fly. 
 And though thine active pen hath wrought 
 Volumes replete M'ith Tully's thought. 
 Thou dost not shun to prune and dress 
 Thy garden's wanton loveliness ; 
 And lead refreshing waters round 
 Thy seedling plants and orange ground. 
 Or train about thy bee-hive's feet 
 The honied rose and woodbine sweet. 
 
 I'll make thy youth's enjoyment mine. 
 And live in Nature's breast divine. 
 Mine be for aye the peasant's lot. 
 The tranquil mind, th' inglorious cot !
 
 40 
 
 .11. ( in. 210.) 
 
 ON Ills OIVjY sickness. 
 
 Then death will finish all ! My home 
 
 Is lost, is desolate ! 
 Must I too sink, in youth's first bloom, 
 
 Beneath the same sad fate ? 
 
 Oh God ! who gavest thy helpless child 
 This fleeting failing breath. 
 
 If I have ne'er thy gift defiled — 
 Yet rescue me from death. 
 
 Not till the work of day is done. 
 The sun sinks in the wave ; 
 
 Not till tlic summer's warmth is gone, 
 The rose lies in her grave. 
 
 Oh ! yomig and too secure of life, 
 I thought my voice to raise 
 
 To tell the battle's toil and strife, 
 And hymn the victor's praise. 
 
 1 glow'd with all a patriot's fire. 
 
 Nor knew that death was nigh j 
 
 Mocking alike my proud desire, 
 And medicine's vanitv.
 
 41 
 
 And thou, iny sire ! thy pkcous lot 
 Must be, these eyes to close ; 
 
 To call on him who hears thee not, 
 And envy my repose. 
 
 Ah ! grant at least, ye ruthless Powers 
 
 That hurry me away, 
 That I may reach the happy bowers 
 
 Where bards and lovers stray ! 
 
 There shall I see Tibullus rove, 
 
 With his own Nemesis ; 
 There hear Catullus sing of love, 
 
 Inspired by Lesbia's kiss. 
 
 And haply, though on earth denied. 
 The maid I've loved so long 
 
 May cling enamour'd to my side, 
 And bless my simple song.
 
 42 
 
 in. (hi. 220.) 
 
 ON Ills DEPARTURE FOR NAPLES. 
 
 Fair Meri^illina! and yc myrtle woods 
 
 Of Pausilippo ! and thou sacred dome 
 
 Tliat risest, beauteous, o'er the purple floods. 
 Guiding the Meary seaman to his home ! 
 
 Fit shrine for poet's Saint, high o'er the beach 
 Arose that chapel at a poet's call ; 
 
 And oh! that I it's sacred doors might reach. 
 And hang a traveller's offering on it's Avail ! 
 
 No charmer's voice should lure me thence, to ply 
 By land or sea my toilsome march again ; 
 
 Not though the bribe were Persia's treasury. 
 Or the wide fleet that crowds the Eastern main. 
 
 What madness is it, ne'er in peace to rest, 
 
 But rove like guilty sprite from land to land j 
 
 By perils now, and now by toil opprest, 
 
 On wastes of frozen snow or torrid sand ! 
 
 Happy the man, who in his father's field 
 Abides, contented with his humble lot ; 
 
 Delights with lusty arm the spade to wield, 
 
 Or prunes the vines that bloom around his cot :
 
 4:5 
 
 Or leads, with curious art, o'er thirsty ground 
 The ductile waters of some distant hill ; 
 
 Or shears his snow-white flock, that hleats around. 
 And steeps their fleeces in the gushing rill ! 
 
 Secure, and blest, he lives. No robber's hand. 
 No storm-swept waters make his life their prey ; 
 
 Around his dying bed his children stand. 
 And in his wife's embrace he faints away. 
 
 She, faithful still, receives his parting breath ; 
 
 Her pious hands seal up his closing eyes. 
 She smooths the turf above the house of death, 
 
 And needful shade and freshening dew supplies. 
 
 There duly, with her children at her side. 
 
 Comes female love to pour the secret tear. 
 
 To watch from morn till night that grave beside, 
 And call in vain on him who cannot hear. 
 
 Oh happy dust ! Oh trebly blest the shade. 
 Which such an end and such a love await ! 
 
 But I, if haply on the rude earth laid, 
 Or tost by seas I meet a fearful fate ; 
 
 Who then shall o'er me scatter holy flowers ? 
 
 What heart delight on my poor tomb to dwell? 
 But let this pass. Farewell, ye peaks of showers ! 
 
 Dear Alps, and each loved shore — farewell — 
 
 farewell !
 
 44 
 
 My pleasure now shall be in gardens sweet 
 To live the easy life the Muses love, 
 
 Cause and eftect to sing, and how to meet 
 
 With reverence due the God that reigns above : 
 
 Then in his Book Reveal'd bright truth to show, 
 What laws to follow, and what sins to shun ; 
 
 To trace the fount from which all blessings flow. 
 The God himsch; th' Eternal Three in One. 
 
 Oh that his grace would place me on thy shore, 
 Blest Pausilippo ! dearer far to rac. 
 
 Than mine own Mincio's bank ; for there of yore 
 Ihvelt Virgil, there he sang in praise of thee. 
 
 The Sirens and green Nereids gather'd mute. 
 To mark the youthful bard's surpassing skill ; 
 
 Hush'd in the listening woods was Satyr's flute. 
 And Bacchus lay entranced on his red hill. 
 
 He sang the while, with myrtle chaplct graced. 
 Of peasant's cares and love's sweet mysteries : 
 
 Anon, the pious Trojan's route he traced 
 From burning Ilion to Italia's skies. 
 
 And ever as be sang, the laurels high 
 Stoop'd consciously to deck his fervid brow ; 
 
 The sea shone purely as the azure sky. 
 And earth with livelier flowerets secm'd toglow.
 
 15 
 
 Oh happy land ! and hast thou Virgil fed ? 
 
 And doth thy pious hrcast his relics hold ? 
 And do the souls, by kindred feeling- led, 
 
 Still in thy groves his placid ghost behold ? 
 
 Oh blessed eyes ! oh, enviable shore ! 
 
 Can birth-place, can Elysium rival thee ? 
 1 prize Benaco's fertile banks no more. 
 
 And what is Mincio's winding stream to me ? 
 
 To thee, blest land, my labour's goal ! I fly 
 
 For rest, ere age has silver'd o'er my head : 
 
 Do thou life's needful air and light supply ; 
 
 Do thou receive my ashes, when I'm dead !
 
 46 
 
 1. Jam frigat, S^c. (III. 232.) 
 
 The lark is up in the rosy sky, 
 
 The fresh young herbs with dew arc shining, 
 And Damon's flocks arc passing by ; 
 
 But thine within their fold arc pining. 
 
 Up ! know'st thou not a shadowy vale, 
 
 \>"hcrc old Menander's tbunt is springing ? 
 
 There oft, when noontide's beams prevail, 
 A lonely shepherd-swain lies singing — 
 
 Singing, to soothe his bosom's pain ; 
 
 And one inviting, one maid only ! 
 Ah ! must he always sing in vain ; 
 
 And must he lie to-day so lonely ? 
 
 II, Irrigiii fontes, ^c. (HI. 237.) 
 
 Ye bubbling fountains, and ye lofty pines 
 
 That wave so graceful o'er this happy vale. 
 
 Where my rude lyre it's earliest garlands won, 
 And Chloe first repaid my love- sick tale ; 
 
 Never in summer's heat, or winter's frost. 
 
 May your full urn or smiling verdure fail ! 
 
 Never may hoof unclean stray here, to bruise 
 The lily cups that fringe the stream around; 
 
 Nor wolf lurk in the shade, nor woodman's axe 
 Affright sweet Echo with it's iron sound : 
 
 But here may Fauns and gentle Nymphs resort. 
 And hold their revels on thishallow'd ground!
 
 47 
 
 III. Rioule, frigidulis, <^c. (III. 238.) 
 
 Gentle stream, why run so fast ? 
 If tlie Nymphs have bid thee haste. 
 Healthful drops to scatter round 
 Chloe's thirsty garden-ground, 
 Quicker ply thy silver feet. 
 Hurry to that dear retreat. 
 
 Happy stream ! for Chloe's lip 
 Will thy gentle Maters sip. 
 And her graceful kiss Mill be 
 Honey and delight to thee. 
 Ply, then, ply thy silver feet, 
 Hurry to that dear retreat. 
 
 IV. Ciim ver purpureum, ^'c. (III. 238.) 
 
 When Zephyrs bring forth the purple Spring, 
 The earth is clad in her myriads of flowers j 
 
 Joy M'aveth aloft his sparkling Mung, 
 
 And melody ruleth the greeuM^ood bowers : 
 
 But Winter more lovely and pleasant will be. 
 
 If Lydia, my loved one, returneth to me. 
 
 When the north-Avinds scatter the yellow leaves. 
 The earth is deform'd by frost and snow. 
 
 The small birds sit mute on the cottage-eaves. 
 And the silent rivulets cease to flow : 
 
 But Spring shineth still in my Lydia's retreat. 
 
 And all things around her are lovely and sM'cct.
 
 48 
 
 V. .Upius, iU Ucti, ^c. (III. 239.) 
 
 bee, how green is eveiy leaf, 
 
 Tlie fields with flowers how gay ! 
 
 How beauteous o'er the cloudless sky 
 The golden sunbeams ])lay ! 
 
 These are Lydia's emblem? bright : 
 
 She smiles, and from that glance of light 
 Sadness flies away. 
 
 See, from the lily's drooping cup 
 
 The smooth bright rain-drops start ! 
 
 See, to yon rose how clings the dew, 
 Unwilling to depart 1 
 
 Such Lydia's face of grief appears : 
 
 Love glows in all her beauteous tears. 
 And warms the gazer's heart. 
 
 VI. IJac Cytherea suo, Sfc. (HI. 239.) 
 
 Venus ! to thee this faithful dove, 
 
 With her true mate, is slain : 
 Their bond of life, one mutual love. 
 
 One day hath rent in twain. 
 So let thy suppliants in one day. 
 
 When death shall break their chain, 
 Transmigrate to each other's clay. 
 
 And live and love again !
 
 49 
 IV. 
 
 (iV. 240.) 
 
 ON H YELL J. 
 
 'I'hou, Muse ! that erst by Sirmio's shore 
 With young Catullus loved'st to stray, 
 
 And taught'st his throbbing lip to pour 
 For Lesbia's ear the deathless lay ; 
 
 Lo ! in Tavorno's flowery mead 
 These hands a rural altar raise. 
 
 And poor but pious offerings spread, 
 To win from thee the lyre of praise. 
 
 For never could thy Lesbia's mind 
 More gentle than Hyella's prove : 
 
 And where shall Muse, or minstrel, find 
 A face or form so framed for love ? 
 
 Then quit Benaco's watery shade ! 
 
 Here flowers of every lustre shine : 
 Here Zephyrs fan each verdant glade. 
 
 And birds are whispering songs divine. 
 
 Fit bath for Dian's virgin train. 
 
 Here fresh and sparkling fountains flow ; 
 When, hastening from the burning plain. 
 
 They loose the zone and doff the bow. 
 
 Then hither come< and while my lyre 
 Is stning to fair Hyella's name. 
 
 Do thou her poet's song inspire. 
 And bid her rival Lesbia's fame, 
 
 H
 
 ^0 
 
 V. 
 
 I. ( V. 272. ) 
 TO GlOVAKXl bJPTlSTJL 
 
 Tell inc, thou floM'er of Tuscan lucn, 
 Doth sickness yet reinahi ? 
 
 1 liy father's home, domestic joys- 
 Arc cliarms Uke these iu vain ? 
 
 Tl»e looks and cares of tenderest love, 
 Bring they not health again ? 
 
 Ah ! more avails domestic peace. 
 The medicine of the mind, 
 
 To still the pulse's feverish flow, 
 The bruised nerve to bind, 
 
 Than all the drugs that pompous art 
 In herb or flower can find ! 
 
 Hast thou not tried it's sovereign balm ? 
 
 Oh let us grateful prove ! 
 What joy is in Flaminio's heart. 
 
 How light his spirits move— 
 A brother has return'd to life, 
 
 A lost one to lils love !
 
 51 
 
 II. ( V. 273. ) 
 
 TO LOnOFICO BECATELLL 
 
 Oh Ludovick ! to thee and me 
 How pitiful life lingers here ! 
 
 What angry God can thus design, 
 
 What evil destinies combine, 
 
 To keep a soul like thine or mine 
 The wrangling city's prisoner ! 
 
 If lust of fame or thirst of wealth 
 
 E'er guided us, I'd not complain r 
 But why hath Rome so long possest 
 Spirits, whose only wish is rest — 
 On my Lavinian garden's breast, 
 
 Or thy Albinum's shadowy plain ? 
 
 Delicious fields, tired labour's couch. 
 
 The haunt of every Muse and Grace ! 
 
 Will this unnatural life supply 
 
 Enough of vital energy, 
 
 That once again my languid eye 
 
 May seek it's verdant resting-plaee?
 
 5^ 
 
 Oh take me to thy placid breast, 
 
 Take me, thou rural scene divine ! 
 
 Bid luxury and pomp away, 
 
 For city-boards more fitting they ! — 
 
 Here spread in beautiful array 
 
 Thy olives, figs, and pensile vine. 
 
 And, when my destined hour is come. 
 
 Beneath thy green turf let me lie : 
 Haply some laurel there may spread 
 It's drooping foliage o'er my head, 
 And some sweet streamlet wail the dead, 
 With gentle murmur stealing by !
 
 .13 
 
 III. ( V. 274. ) 
 
 TO HERCUL. SEVEROLO. 
 
 The warm west-wind hath hroiight attain 
 
 The luxuries of spring-, 
 Flaminio in his own sweet fields 
 
 Again is wandering ; 
 But thee to thy good father's home 
 
 No happy seasons hring. 
 
 Why still, by thousand clients throng'd. 
 
 In sultry Rome delay ? 
 Ah ! see'st thou not ? Thy little life 
 
 Is fleeting fast away ! 
 Like mountain-stream it hurries on — 
 
 Still on, and may not stay. 
 
 Why labour, then, for useless wealth ? 
 
 This farm thy sires hath fed. 
 And yearns for thee. Here dwelt the good, 
 
 Here rest the honour'd dead ! 
 Wilt thou their hallow'd walks forsake, 
 
 By vain ambition led ? 
 
 Nay turn, and here let pious cares, 
 
 Let Arts thy soul delight : 
 Let Virgil o'er thy leisure-hours 
 
 Scatter his visions bright ; 
 And change the dull bewildering law 
 
 For TuUy's page of light.
 
 54 
 
 IV. ( V. 276. ) 
 TO GIOVANNI FRAXCESCO CASERTJ. 
 
 Why to thy much-loved fields invite 
 
 Flaininio, with such earnest prayer ? 
 
 To hear, and see thee smiling bright, 
 Caserta ! and the sweets to share, 
 Ne'er found but in thy meadows fair — 
 
 Who would not justly deem tlie sum of all delight? 
 
 But I have found in those dear plains 
 A balm to soothe the tumult wild. 
 
 The fiery scourge that dried my veins ; 
 And there the Muse hath ever smiled 
 So kindly on her wayward child, 
 
 That all the rustic crowd were captive to my strains. 
 
 What pleasures then can equal thine, 
 Caserta ? But I come not yet — 
 
 Delays of business still entwine 
 Around me their insidious net : 
 And ne'er have parted lovers met, 
 
 As we will fly to meet, when liberty is mine!
 
 55 
 
 VI. (v. 28G. ) 
 
 TO ALOISIO PRIULL 
 
 Ah ! why, Priuli, pour the constant tear ; 
 
 Embittering the death, which God's good grace 
 Had taught me to expect without a fear ? 
 
 For what's the grave, but good men's resting- 
 place ? 
 
 We have been bound with friendship's softest ties; 
 
 Our hearts by onesame impulse seem'd to move 
 In childhood, and through life's varieties 
 
 Hiive still preserved the same unchanging love. 
 
 Our very studies were the same. One home 
 Received, one table fed us : not a grief 
 
 Of mine left thee unscath'd; no joy could bloom 
 In thy young heart, which gave not mine relief. 
 
 But now these bonds, for they were earthly, cease ; 
 
 And we in ti*uth must part. My path must be. 
 Up yon bright heavens, to everlasting peace : 
 
 The world, but not for long, remains to thee. 
 
 Yet weep not thus, Priuli ! Hather bless 
 
 My soul's ascent above yon (;loudless air. 
 
 And on to that bright goal unwearied press : 
 
 For thou shall surely rise, and join me there.
 
 5() 
 
 VII. ( V. 2f)7.) 
 TO GIULIO SAULl, 
 
 How did my spirit, Julio, groan for thee, 
 
 When fever on thy gentle members fied ! 
 
 How did imagination grieve to see 
 
 Thy faded cheek, dim eye, and drooping head! 
 
 And then 'twas ever ringing in mine ear — 
 Thy dear, thy honour'd mother's wailing wild; 
 
 When hope was not, and prostrate on thy bier 
 She clasp'd to her cold heart her perish'd child. 
 
 These were my bitter thoughts; whenlo! the flame. 
 That wasted thine, my feeble life assail'd : 
 
 Beneath it's fuiy shrank my withering frame. 
 My brain was darken'd, and my breathing 
 
 fail'd. 
 
 But God, all-gracious, saw with piteous eye 
 Thy youth's strong combat, and my double woes; 
 
 He spake the word of power — ' Ye shall not die'— ■ 
 And straight the fever left us, and we rose. 
 
 My tongue shall daily praise His holy name, 
 My heart repose on Him who pitied mc : 
 
 And thou, dear Julio, be thy care the same. 
 
 For wonderous was his love to thine and thee!
 
 57 
 
 VIII. (v. 290.) 
 TO FRANCESCO BOLOGNETJ. 
 
 Go, gentle Muse, and wing thy way 
 To sweet Bouonia's gardens gay, 
 And single from my loved ones there 
 Thine own Francesco. Ah ! his care, 
 His grief for my dread malady. 
 Has thinn'd his cheek and dimm'd his eye : 
 No food he takes, no soothing sleep. 
 But all night long he wakes to weep. 
 Lamenting and complaining still 
 Of baffled medicine's bootless skill. 
 Fly, gentle Muse, and say — ' Rejoice ! 
 ' I come again, Flaminio's voice — 
 
 * The Gods have heard thy fervent prayer ^ 
 ' I breathe again the blessed air, 
 
 ' And soon thy fond embrace will meet, 
 ' And share with thee thy loved retreat. 
 ' So fling thy grief to wave or wind, 
 ' Where none may e'er it's traces find ; 
 ' And lift on high the Tuscan lyre, 
 
 * And let my rescued life inspire 
 
 * A song of praise, whose grateful sound 
 
 * Shall gather listening nations round.'
 
 58 
 
 IX. ( V. 302. ) 
 TO DAMUJVO DAM1.1NI. 
 
 Gentle liquor, clear and sweet, 
 Wine for God's carousal meet. 
 Golden drops! when Art in vain 
 Strove to lull my bosom's pain, 
 Ye through all my pulses stealing, 
 Soft and sweet, refreshing, healing, 
 Soothed at once my labouring side, 
 Check'd my fever's fiery tide. 
 Brought mine eyelids slumber's balm. 
 And bade mv troubled brain be calm. 
 
 Heavenly liquor, golden wine ! 
 Since my life's a gift of thine, 
 Not a year shall pass away. 
 But my Muse her thanks shall pay. 
 In many a living verse shall glow 
 The vineyard, where thy clusters grow : 
 Duly shall my prayer arise 
 For gentle winds and sunny skies ; 
 And won by song from heaven above, 
 An arm unseen shall round thee move — 
 Driving hungry tln'evcs afar. 
 Warding off ethereal war, 
 Keeping aye, with care divine. 
 The parent of my golden wine.
 
 59 
 
 X. ( V. 304. ) 
 
 TO SLEEP. 
 
 Come, gentle Sleep 1 ^vhy thus in vain 
 
 Arc spread these arms to cradle thee ? 
 
 No conscious guilt hath fired my brain. 
 No vulgar sorrows watch with me. 
 
 My life hath been like yonder stream. 
 That seems to chide thy lazy wing ; 
 
 Peaceful and pure, a poet's dream, 
 
 Through Nature's wild walks murmuring. 
 
 The closing flowers that round me lie, 
 The nightingale's reproachful song, 
 
 Thy poppies wan— all seem to cry ; 
 
 * Sweet Sleep ! why tarrieth Sleep so long ?' 
 
 Ah ! know'st thou not, this aching breast 
 The Muse hath pillow'd on her own ? 
 
 Come, Sleep, and cro^vn a poet's rest, 
 Ere yet his very life be flown. 
 
 Come, and full many a grateful lay 
 
 For life preserved thy meed shall be : 
 
 Come, lest the good and gentle say. 
 
 Their poet's death was wrought by thee.
 
 60 
 
 XI. ( V. 305. ) 
 
 TO MARCO. 
 
 Ah ! who, that once hath 'scaped the horrid wreck, 
 
 Will tempt again the vengeance of the sea ; 
 Again abide, e'en on the wealthy deck, 
 
 Though the winds sing their sweetest lullaby ? 
 The hour of battle and of toil is nigh, 
 
 The monsters of the deep again appear ; 
 The billows boom above the bloodshot eye, 
 
 The deep gulf howls within the bursting ear, 
 And the cold heart of man faints in it's deadly fear. 
 
 'Tvvere wiser, Mark, to use the wealth you have. 
 
 And rest contented on your natal shore ; 
 Than perils like the past again to brave, 
 
 In the vain search of the unneeded more! 
 What! will the ocean's caves their treasures pour, 
 
 As freely as her fruits the bounteous earth ? 
 There nought but restless treacherous waters roar; 
 
 Here, flowers and zephyrs have their gentle birth: 
 There, woe and danger lurk j here, sparkle joy 
 
 and mirth.
 
 Gl 
 
 Lo! where yon mansion stands! Unlock thy wcaltli, 
 
 And be the monarch of this i:^lorious scene ! 
 These breezy hills are crown'd by rosy health, 
 
 And quiet slumbers in yon valleys green : 
 What cultured slopes and vineyards intervene ! 
 
 HoM' rich and full the yellow harvests bloAv ! 
 How gracefully their painted banks between, 
 
 Making sweet melody, the streamlets flow, 
 And like the peasant's heart with joy's bright 
 
 sunshine glow. 
 
 Here shall thou find, what Commerce cannot give, 
 
 An easy conscience and contented heart : 
 Here shalt thou learn at length how best to live, 
 
 And wean thy sons from Avarice's mart. 
 And teach betimes the Christian's noblest art ; 
 
 And here, too, shalt thou learn how undeprest 
 To look on death, and cheerfully depart : 
 
 For Wedded Love shall lay thee on her breast, 
 And hush thee, like a child, to thine eternal rest.
 
 62 
 
 XII. ( V. 306, ) 
 TO STEP J NO SAULI. 
 
 Say not, that he hath happiness, 
 Whom crowds of nohle clients press 
 In all his walks, whose granaries hold 
 Vast Afric's wealth, whose heaps of gold 
 Ecjual in bulk that Ijoarded grain, 
 Whose garb with jewels groans like flower sur- 
 charged with rain. 
 
 Nor, Sauli, doth the scholar know 
 True happiness, though all below, 
 And all above in earth or sky, 
 Be open'd to his curious eye; 
 But happy He, to whom is given 
 True knowledge of the God, who made both 
 
 earth and heaven. 
 
 That gracious God to venerate. 
 With purest mind, in every state; 
 To keep, through good report and ill. 
 His loval faith unsullied still ; 
 For God to live, for God to die — 
 These are his dearest cares, his wealth, his luxury. 
 
 And thence his spirit bursts the ties 
 Of flesh and sense, and heavenward flies : 
 Above the gauds that men hold dear. 
 Of power or wealth, her bright career 
 She upward keeps, and finds her rest 
 Before her Maker's throne 'mid spirits of the Blest,
 
 63 
 
 XIII. ( V. 307. ) 
 
 TO DO NATO RULLO. 
 
 All ! who can paint that troubled sea, 
 Where all things strange and fearful be — 
 The human mind ? Now dark Despair, 
 A sullen cloud, is brooding there ; 
 Now Hope, still credulous of good. 
 Smiles gently on the rising flood ; 
 Now Pain and Grief are howling high ; 
 Now Rage and Vengeance hurl it's billows to the 
 
 sky. 
 
 No mind like this to man was given, 
 When, guiltless, he conversed in heaven : 
 But Pride his erring nature sway'd, 
 And marr'd the work which God had made. 
 Till then, no curse his labour drew ; 
 To love and praise were all he knew: 
 His life was like a path of light. 
 Death walk'd not on the earth his spirit to affright. 
 
 What arm shall now the weak one stay ? 
 What voice recall the soul astray ? 
 Will philosophic Greece reveal 
 A balm, his varied woes to heal ? 
 Will purple robe, or yellow gold, 
 A medicine for the mind unfold ? 
 Will Fame's strong breath, that lifts on high. 
 Then dashes to the dust, desired content supply ?
 
 64 
 
 Oil ! these are idle vanities, 
 And none but earthward spirits please. 
 Rullus I thy noble ahn shall be 
 To win, upon thy bended knee, 
 The help that comes but from above — 
 The wealth of peace, the joys of love; 
 To tread the paths the Saints have trod, 
 And lowly as thou art, to rise and dwell with God.
 
 65 
 
 A NOON-TIDE PBJlYER. (p. 365.) 
 
 The Sun hath reach'd the heaven's mid-height, 
 Earth th'oops beneath his parching light. 
 Oh Father ! thus thy power display. 
 Send through our hearts thy living ray, 
 Till every burning sense confess 
 Our God's surpassing worthiness. 
 Let no cold cares of earth remove 
 That fervid zeal, that generous love ; 
 But let them still more brightly shine 
 Beneath the light of Grace Divine, 
 Till summon'd from our chains we rise 
 To dwell in Faith's meridian skies. 
 
 FLOWERS, (p. 369.) 
 
 How gaily lifts it's little head 
 
 Yon tender flower. 
 Yon child of earth, if duly fed 
 
 By dew and shower ; 
 One by one it's leaves unfolding. 
 Every leaf new beauties holding. 
 
 So doth ray soul, an earthly flower. 
 
 Rejoicing shine, 
 If water'd by the dew and shower 
 
 Of grace divine. 
 Is Heaven lock'd up ? Poor Earth may cherish 
 Her flowers in vain— for both must perish \ 
 %.
 
 66 
 
 jj LAMENTATIOJV. (p. 376.) 
 
 Ah ! my hair is turning gray : 
 Like a stream, life flows away ! 
 Death, ah'eady hovering near. 
 Whispers thus within mine ear; 
 ' How long, dreamer, wilt thou ply 
 
 * The round of worldly vanity ? 
 ' Now, e'en now, direct thy feet 
 
 * To the Just One's judgement-seat : 
 
 * Every heart he knoweth well, 
 
 ' Every word and thought can tell.' 
 
 This my soul believes, and fain 
 To my God would turn again ; 
 Fain would burst each worldly tie, 
 And to heaven exulting fly : 
 But in vain it's toil and strife ! 
 Chains are round it, bonds of life ! 
 
 Blessed Jesu ! rescue me : 
 Thou alone can'st set me free. 
 Loose these prison-doors of clay, 
 Bear me to the realms of dav. 
 Teach my ransom'd soul to sing 
 Glory to th' Eternal King ! 
 Glory to the blessed Son ! 
 And the Spirit, Three in One !
 
 67 
 
 TO THE CJRDIJ^AL ALEX. FJRNESE, 
 
 WITH A PAKAPIinASE OF THE PSALMS. (p. 313.) 
 
 While others slumber's sweets enjoy'd 
 Through all the silent night, 
 
 The strains that flow'd from David's harp, 
 Brought to my soul delight : 
 
 I conn'd them o'er, till darkness fled 
 Before the morning light. 
 
 Dear shadowy hours ! like balm ye came 
 
 Upon my watchful eye ; 
 And, when I'm gone who strung them first 
 
 To Latin minstrelsy. 
 Oft shall ye hear these holy lays 
 
 Rise to the starry sky. 
 
 'Twas not for me the loves insane 
 
 Of Pagan Jove to tell. 
 Or orgies of the drunken God, 
 
 Or Paeans loud to swell ; 
 'Twas mine to hymn the Christian's Hope, 
 
 And on his praises dwell.
 
 68 
 
 He rulcth every living thing, 
 
 And merciful his sway ; 
 The stars and seas his guidance own, 
 
 All hearts his eyes survey : 
 He crowns the good, but vengeance takes 
 
 On them that disobey. 
 
 Oh ! that light youth would learn of me, 
 
 And store the tender mind 
 With hallow'd truths, in which their age 
 
 It's chief delight should find ; 
 And cast their siren songs away, 
 
 The wreaths by lust entwined! 
 
 Ye parents, hath the Prophet struck 
 
 His holy harp in vain ? 
 Hath ever youth a tempter found 
 
 Like Love's insidious strain ? 
 Oh ! hither bring the pure fresh heart, 
 
 And heaven shall be it's gain. 
 
 But thou, Farnese, who in youth 
 Hast won the strength of age ; 
 
 Lay by the heavy cares of state, 
 And shut dark history's page, 
 
 And let thy bard's refreshing songa 
 Thy wearied mind engage.-
 
 69 
 
 In thine own pleasant gardens laid, 
 
 Maffeio by thy side 
 And learn'd Antonio, take my book, 
 
 And let it's worth be tried : 
 'Twill comfort the dejected soul. 
 
 And still the heart of pride. 
 
 And think not, that Flaminio's Muse 
 Hath thus presumed to sing : 
 
 In warrior's tent, or peaceful bower. 
 Rang the same pious string — 
 
 Renown'd in both, 'twas David's strain j 
 His theme, th' Eternal King ! 
 
 J. FLETCHER, PRINTER, CHESTER.
 
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