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sence.

I have no cup.

son.

your dreams

(Lauretta enters.)

Then through the wild forest together we'll Lau. Am I not right? In truth,

hie. There sits Antonio !

Thy limbs in the tide shall I blanch white Ant. Welcome, fair Lauretta.

as those, Lau. Are you then come at last? Your Which thy loving embraces ere long shall wife, Maria

enclose, Has sorely vexed herself at your long ab When deep in my chamber of rest thou art

laid, Ant. Indeed I had not strength to come And the bright crystal waters foam over more quickly.

thy head,” &c. &c. Lau. You are fatigued by the long walk. In the rest of the song, which conNo wonder !

sists of three more stanzas, Lauretta Ant. Dear child, will you assist me now, and bring

describes the death of the pilgrim. A A draught of water in your pitcher there,

fairy, or enchantress, with golden

hair, comes out of the fountain, and Lau. How have

you lost

your
hat ?

gives him drink, which turns to poiAnt. 'Twas left, forsooth, in Parma.

A cold shivering runs through Lau. And what now

his frame ; he dies; and henceforth Is on your head ? A laurel crown! Ha! his spirit haunts the forest. Antonio, this

whose illness now every moment inBecomes you well. Who gave it you ?

creases, interprets the whole as a proAnt. Mine angel visitant ! Lau. Ah! thus you men of genius, in phecy of his own fate. In the speech

which follows, occurs one of these Forget all sober truth. If I must wed, passages for which the poetry of It shall not be an artist who would soon

Oehlenschlaeger is so remarkable. Forget his wife !

From a systematic love of simplicity, Ant. Nay child-thou can'st not say his ordinary style, it must be conThat I forget Maria !

fessed, appears occasionally low and Lau. Now then drink,

flat; and this remark is much more Even to thy heart's content. (Gives him water.)

applicable to the “ Correggio,” than to Cool are the streams

any of his other productions. That flow from caverns in the world beneath. This apparent platitude, however, Ant. I thank thee, kind Rebecca--and for is like a rough ore, in which the diathis

mond brilliancy of such passages as Will paint a husband for thee !

that beginning, Lau. Aye, forsooth ?

“ How beautiful this evening is !” Ant. Now must I go; but I am very

weak. (He sinks down again.) in the following quotation, appears to Lau. Then rest here yet awhile. With more advantage, and becomes indeed young Giovanni,

irresistibly affecting. Maria went to meet you. They will soon Lau. (having ended her song.) Be here, and will go home with you. But it grows late, and I must leave you now, Ant. I know not why :-my heart is sore And milk my goats. Farewell! Maria soon

Will come with Giovanni. Lau. You are too melancholy, sir. This Ant. Many thanks !

Lau. No need of thanks! (Exit.) Of painting saints and penitents. But rest Ant. No need! Thou say'st the truth ! Awhile beneath this tree, and I shall sing A frightful song it was! a song of death! A song to thee, whose burden with the scene An exultation from the powers of darkness! Around us well accords.

This weed Italia has not rear'd within Ant. Sing on, dear child.

Her flowery bosom! Light-hair'd Lom. It will revive my spirit.

bardess ! Lau. (singing.)

This gift of prophecy thou from thy mother,

And she from hers, inherited; thus, onThe fairy dwells in her rocky hall.

ward, The pilgrim sits by the water-fall.

Until the chain stops with that ancestress, From the tow'ring cliff to the gulf below, That hang'd herself in rage, because her The foaming streams rush white as snow.

husband, “ Sir Pilgrim, I pray thee, listen to me ; Barbarian as he was, had lost the battle! Jump into the whiripool, my bridegroom She said “ Farewell !” not, as we should to be!

say,

Live well ! * 2.

She reach'd to me the drink, the deadly cup! Thy soul from its bondage be mine to untie, She was herself the golden-hair'denchantress.

oppress'd.

comes

* Leben sie wohl, a common expression in Germany and Denmark.

may not be.

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The shuddering run through all my limbs Mar. He will ere long
-By Heaven !

Be here, my child. In Parma he had I have myself inspired and realized

much The song that she but sung in jest !

Of business to detain him. (A pause. He then says, more tran. Giov.--'Tis, indeed, quilly, and with a smile.)

Already dark, dear mother. I'm afraid Ha ! thus,

Mar.-Afraid, Giovanni ? Nay, this Like every wavering flame of earthly fire, Our fancy, for the last time at its close, Whoe'er is free from crime needs not to Beams up once more in brightness. Be it so!

fear I tremble not! If this girl were the fairy, The darkness more than daylight. So then no less that lovely form, that crown'd Giov.-Lo! even now, My head in Parma, was the Heavenly Muse! The sky was all so beauteous and serene Then is Maria, too, no hapless widow ! The sportive clouds, in various hues beShe is the true and sanctified Maria !

dight, Giovanni, too, remains no helpless orphan, Play'd o'er the hemisphere. Bat all are But, sent from Heaven, a messenger of love,

vanished. That, with his agnus-dei staff, should here The sun sinks low; nay, he is gone alreaFollow the blest Maria-even mine Art,

dy, All to the glory of our holy Faith,

And but a long line of deep red remains. To perfect and to guide ! Aye, be it so! Mar.-But see'st thou not, even through (More cheerfully.) How beautiful this even. the entangled boughs, ing is ! how blue

That beauteous aspect gleaming ? That sky! how cool the breezes that now Giov.__'Tis the moon ! fan

Her light begins when thus the sun retires ; My temples with their angel wings! Behold, Her mild pale beams refresh the weary A light shower falls in the east-while

heart. from the west,

(Sitting down by the spring of water.) The sinking sun paints on the southern sky Ha! there's “ Forget-me-not !”. How The loveliest rainbow! Oh! how joyfully

frequent here The radiant green of hope, from the blue It grows amid the grass. Mother, shall I depth

Gather and twine a wreath of these fine Of everlasting space, beams out upon me!

flowers, It seems as if, in my departing hour, Ere yet my father come? For the last time the sacred seven-fold hues Mar - Do so, dear child : Shone forth, to invite me from this twilight Beguile thy weariness with plucking flowers. sphere

What can'st thou better? Unto the home of their eternal mother,

(Giovanni goes out.) The pure unclouded light !

Mar. (alone.)-Foolish heart !

Why (Taking the sack.)

thus I lift thee up,

All frightful apprehensions must thou cheThou heaviest load of life, for the last time,

rish ? Thou hard and merciless Mammon! Ever. Wherefore must horrid phantoms rouse up

thus The soul's worst foe, but most of all, when Imagination's powers ? Misfortune yet

I have not ascertain'd. But if it comes, Her strugglings are not earthward. Thou, Where can I turn, alas ! for consolation indeed,

But to the self-same powers of mind that Had'st thy revenge on me.

The narrow

now
gains

Combine against me ?
That Art obtain'd for me have ever been Laur. (singing as she enters.)
A weary load. Now shall I live without “ Thy soul from its bondage be mine to
thee!

untie Oh come, Maria-my Giovanni, come! Then through the cold wood together we'll One moment only for a last farewell !

hie," &c. Oh Heaven, this last of earth's

poor

bless Ah! Maria here?
ings grant me,

I thought you would appear ere long.
And I shall part in peace !

Mar.-Lauretta!

(Exit.) Have you then seen Antonio ?
(Maria enters from the opposite side, with Laur. Aye indeed

Giovanni-the latter having his agnus I gave him drink and sung to him.
dei staf" in his hand.)

Mar. Oh Heaven !
Giov.Wherefore, dear mother,

Where is he now?
Is not my father come?

more

now

* In the poetical nomenclature of the Germans, green is ever emblematic of hope, and blue of constancy, &c.

ple!

Laur. (Antonio is seen at a distance.) Mar. He sleeps.-yet must I go ?
See there he comes again!

Ant. Aye child—I pray you,
Now this indeed is fortunate! Methinks He will soon come.
You are both lovers still not married peo Mar. I hasten, yet I tremble.

Ant. Love, why delay'st thou ? Therefore, your meeting must not be dis (Maria kisses his forehead, looks to turb'd

heaven, and says. Besides 'tis late-therefore, farewell Maria ! Mar. Well, I go. Ere long Good rest, Antonio !

We meet again. Mar. (Antonio_enters pale and blood Ant. (Looks at her affectionately, and stained.) Dear Antonio !

presses her hand.) Ant. (throwing down the sack.) Maria! Aye, surely-'tis indeed

there is money-thus have I Short separation ! Once more for a brief space supplied

the calls

(Giovanni enters.) Of want to thee and our poor boy. But now, Come now, Giovanni ! I can no more! Henceforth may Heaven Dear child, what hast thou there? support you !

Giov. Wild flowers, my father. Mar. Antonio! Oh ye blessed saints ! A little garland of “ Forget me not !” Ant. Methinks

Ant. Thou little innocent ! Poor helpless Thou art my wife again-is it not so ?

orphan! Alas! too truly a poor hapless widow Heaven will protect thee ! Yet Heaven be prais'd-the visions wild Giov. Nay, dear father, thou are gone,

Wilt still protect me! My brain no longer throbs with feverish Ant. Kneel down, child. heat.

Giov. (he kneels.) Now, father! Mar. But thou art pale and bleeding. Ant. Dear child, take then thy father's Ant. Therefore child

blessing! More My wild delusions have all past away I cannot give thee. But in his last hour The remnant of life's crimson tide that still A father's blessing hath much influence ! Flows in my veins is tranquil. Thus I Giov. Thou art so pale, dear father! know

Ant. I am tir'd. It was Lauretta that now parted from thee.. Now must I rest until thy mother comes. No fiend-no fearful Atropos !

(He lies doron.) Mar. Antonio !

Giov. Aye, sleep, my father; I shall Ant. And thou—thou art my wife watch by thee. Giovanni here

(Sitting down beside Antonio. My son-no supernatural guests on earth, My father sleeps—what has he on his head ? That suffer not and cannot sympathize ! A laurel wreath ? Well, I shall give him Alas ! too deep and truly will you suffer !

mine too. Mar. Have mercy, Heaven!

This, when he wakes, will please him and Ant. Despair not ! Give me now

my mother! One kiss-the last on earth our marriage (Placing the garland on his father's head. yet

Baptista enters with Francisco.) Shall be renew'd in Heaven-fear not Bapt. But know'st thou truly to describe Maria!

the picture Mar. Oh, must all hope end thus ? Oh, That rescued thee ? no, Antonio

Fran. Aye, twas a Magdalene ! Ant. So must it end dear child-what And nobly painted bonds on earth

Bapt. With long auburn hair Can last for ever? If a few short hours Blue dress--a scull and book ? Sooner or later is it not the same ?

Fran. Aye, so it was; True 'tis a bitter moment-yet no more

And by Antonio painted. Than but a moment and oh think, Maria, Bapt. He has then That moment leads to immortality.

Rescued thy life, while ImWell, that in. Oh ! my beloved, wilt thou then promise me

deed To bear this dispensation ? that no tears

Is not fulfill'd As of a painful sacrifice shall flow,

Fran. Who lies here, pale and bleeding ? But tears of kindness, sympathy, and love,

A child beside him ? Such as rejoice the heart?

Bapt. Where? Mar. Then part in peace!

Fran. (pointing.) See'st thou not? There! I promise this!

Bapt. (crossing himself.) Protect us, Ant. In Heaven's name be it so !

Heaven ! Where is my son ?

Fran, How's this? How pale thou art ! Mar. (culling him.)

Bapt. Is it Antonio's body? Giovanni ! He is gone

Fran. Aye, my father. To gather flowers.

Come, we shall see ! Ant. To deck his father's coffin !

Bapt. Madman! what rage is this? Go now Maria to Sylvestro here;

See'st thou not how an angel watches him ? Hc shall attend me in my dying hour.

Fran. "Tis but a boy!

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life is gone.

Bapt. Thou’rt blind. It is an angel, Has called him to his court. There shall
Who with his crosier threatens us! Away! Antonio,
Fran. Nay, father!

Distinguished and rewarded, henceforth Bapt. Come, I say !-Not even hope

hold Is left to me,-he threatens us again. His place in the Duke's household, for to Fran. You are deceived.

day Bapt, Home, home, I say ! 'Tis late ! Giulio Romano and great Buonarotti The cold night breezes freeze my vitals. So well his cause have pleaded, that his Home !

Highness There sickness waits me, yet, 'tis but a Sent me at once, that I might bring fever,

Antonio And if in dreams thou hear'st me speak of To-morrow with his wife and child to blood

Mantua. And murder, heed it not, 'tis but delirium ! Sylv. Yet early as thou com'st, it is too Fran. Father !

late. Bapt. 'Twas but indeed by chance, I say, Mess. How so ? That he thus rescued thee in the same Sylv. There lies the martyr, fallen alhour,

ready Wherein I had devoted him to death. Beneath oppression's blows and poverty. He threatens us again ! Then let us fly! Mess. I'st possible ?--Already gone! Is

[Exeunt.

that [Sylvestro and Maria enter.] Antonio ? Mar. O, my Antonio ! Am I not too Sylv. Aye--that was Antonio late?

But many a year will come and pass away, Giov. Silence, dear mother ! for my fa Ere in our world it can be said again ther sleeps.

There is Antonio.
Mar. Nay ! 'tis all o'er ! My love; my Mess. Oh! I do believe you.

Syło. Salute your master from us with
Giov. What thus afflicts you mother ? due homage
Wherefore weep'st thou ?

Say to him 'twas humane to listen thus, My father sleeps, for he was tired. Ere long, When artists for their hapless brother sued, He will rise up again.

Yet warn him that it had been nobler far, Mar. Dear child,--dear angel !

If he himself spontaneously had prized, Antonio's son, my only solace now ! And aided that high soul that now hath fled, Syl. Nay, dear Maria, moderate your Ere chance and other men made known grief,

too late Nor thus affright the child, for he believes The treasure now for ever lost. His father sleeps.

Meph. Alas! poor man! neglected thus Mar. O blissful thought! And I

to perish! Believe this too. Through innocent lips Sylv. Bewail him not the now rewardthus Heaven

ed saint ! Addresses us. Aye, --he but sleepsere long His weary head is now reclin'd. But lo! We shall sleep too,--and wake again in The simple garlands that his brows enHeaven.

twine, Syl. Aye surely!

The wreath of GLORY, and REMEM[Maria sits down and weeps ; Giovanni BRANCE,- These

remains quietly beside the body. Syl I tell thee, will be green and flourishing. vestro stands anxiously looking at them. When golden crowns in dust are fallen unA messenger suddenly enters, and says heeded. to Sylvestro, who stands between him and Meph. I do believe thee. He was truly the body.]

great. Messenger. Who knows the right road Giov. (weeping) to Correggio ?

My father sleeps not-no-no!-he is dead! Syl. Straight onward friend.

Sylv. Weep-my poor child, for thou Mess. Perchance you know the painter,

hast cause to weep; Antonio Allegri ?

And thou, Maria, weep with me - The world Syl. Aye--what of him ?

Has cause of admiration, not of sorrow Mess. Hither I come as his evangelist. For in his works he still survives on earth, Henceforth his fortune is secure.

The noblest model for all times to come! Syl. I know it

But we have lost a Husband-Father He lacks no farther aid.

Friend ! Meph. How then ? You heard

That all the world could not compensate Already?

Still, Syl. What?

In Heaven we meet again! Meph. The duke of Mantua

The curtain falls.

TO CHRISTOPHER NORTH, ESQ.

Sir, If the following narrative be worth a place in your Miscellany, it is very much at your service; otherwise no harm will be done, as you are at perfect liberty to consign it to the flames. It relates to a book, which has at various times made some noise in the world, and of which a translation (or pretended translation) fell into my hands some two or three years ago, by the death of a relation, by marriage-a mercantile man, shrewd and sagacious, I have been ld by those who knew him, but I believe without any pretensions to authorship or learning. I have had it copied from the original MS. with all its errors of orthography, &c. which you will correct or retain as you think best. Of the contents of the book itself, I think it best to observe a total silence. The narrative inclosed forms a sort of preface to it. Whoever was its writer, he seems to have been somewhat tainted with the principles which it is the natural tendency of such a work to encourage ; for he has the meanness, it will be seen, to join in committing an act of dishonesty, and the impudence to avow it. If the tract itself be rightly fathered on Peter de Vignes as its author, Pierre did not go without his reward. The loss of bodily sight, which, as every reader of Dante knows, (Inferno, canto 13.) the vengeance of his master Frederic inflicted on him, seems a sort of just compensation for the mental blindness which he endeavoured to inflict upon others; and perhaps, before despair drove the poor wretch, as it afterwards did, to suicide, he may have reflected, that it was at least impolitic to undermine the value of a book, which, among other doctrines, teaches us “ to put no confidence in princes.” I am, Sir, your very faithful and obes, dient servant,

A. B.

De Tribus Impostoribus. It is upwards of 400 years since the talked of. He was neither a Christian, world first began to talk of this little whose religion he treated as a mere treatise, which, from its bare title, has impossibility; nor a Mahometan, since been all along judged impious, pro- they followed, as he used to style it, a fane, and worthy of the flames; not religion fit only for swine. In short, that any one of those censurers had he quitted the world like a philosopher, ever read it.

Now I indeed, having that is to say, without having adhered actively perused and attentively exa to the opinions of the vulgar. Now, mined it, am enabled to pass upon it was not this sufficient to get him prothis judgment; and one may venture claimed an enemy to three religions to 'assert, that it is written with all the which he had contemned ? circumspection that the subject-matter Giovanni Boccacio, a learned Italian, would admit of, to a man thoroughly of a jovial, merry disposition, and conpersuaded of the falsity of those things sequently no friend to, nor fit for biwhich he attacked, and protected by a gotry, lived in the middle of the 11th powerful prince, by whose order he century. A certain fable of the three wrote.

kings, which he ventured to insert in Scarce has there appeared any one one of his performances, was looked learned person, whose religion has been on as a plan of that execrable book, suspected, or thought equivocal, but whose author was sought for a long he was immediately made to be the time after his death. author of this treatise.

Michael Servetus, who, through the Averroes, a famous commentator on merciless persecution of Calvin, was the works of Aristotle, and celebrated burnt alive at Geneva, had not already for his erudition, is the first who has written enough against the Trinity been placed upon this list. He flou- and the Redeemer ; but it was thought rished about the middle of the 12th necessary still to augment the catacentury, the period of time when the logue of those impious books of his, Treatise of the 'Three Impostors was first by inserting also this now in question.

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