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XX.

"She came, with mother and with sire-
What need of more?-I will not tire
With long recital of the rest,
Since I became the Cossack's guest:
They found me senseless on the plain-

They bore me to the nearest hut-
They brought me into life again—
Me-one day o'er their realm to reign!
Thus the vain fool who strove to glut

His rage, refining on my pain,

Sent me forth to the wilderness, Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone, To pass the desert to a throne,

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What mortal his own doom may guess?

(1) Charles, having perceived that the day was lost, and that his only chance of safety was to retire with the utmost precipitation, suffered himself to be mounted on horseback, and with the remains of his army fled to a place called Perewolochna, situated in the angle formed by the junction of the Vorskla and the Borysthenes. Here, accompanied by Mazeppa, and a few hundreds of his followers, Charles swam over the latter great river, and proceeding over a desolate country, in danger of perishing with hunger, at length reached the Bog, where he was kindly received by the Turkish pacha. The Russian envoy

Let none despond, let none despair!
To-morrow the Borysthenes

May see our coursers graze at ease
Upon his Turkish bank,—and never
Had I such welcome for a river

As I shall yield when safely there. (1) Comrades, good night!"-The Hetman threw His length beneath the oak-tree shade, With leafy couch already made,

A bed nor comfortless nor new
To him, who took his rest whene'er
The hour arrived, no matter where:

His eyes the hastening slumbers steep.
And if ye marvel Charles forgot
To thank his tale, he wonder'd not,→

The king had been an hour asleep.(2)

at the Sublime Porte demanded that Mazeppa should be delivered up to Peter, but the old Hetman of the Cossacks escaped this fate by taking a disease which hastened his death." Barrow's Peter the Great, pp. 196-203.— L. E.

(2) The copy of Mazeppa sent to this country by Lord Byron is in the handwriting of Theresa, Countess Guiccioli; and it is impossible not to suspect that the Poet had some circumstances of his own personal history in his mind, when he portrayed the fair Polish Theresa, her youthful lover, and the jealous rage of the old Count Palatine.— L. E.

Morgante Maggiore.

TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF PULCI. (1)

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE Morgante Maggiore, of the first canto of which this translation is offered, divides with the Orlando Innamorato the honour of having formed and suggested the style and story of Ariosto. The great defects of Boiardo were his treating too seriously the

It was,

(1) This translation was executed at Ravenna, in February, 1820, and first saw the light in the pages of the unfortu nate journal called The Liberal. The merit of it, as Lord Byron over and over states in his letters, consists in the wonderful verbum pro verbo closeness of the version. in fact, an exercise of skill in this art; and cannot be fairly estimated, without reference to the original Italian. Those who want full information, and clear philosophical views, as to the origin of the Romantic Poetry of the Italians, will do well to read at length an article on that subject, from the pen of the late Ugo Foscolo, in No. XLII. of the Quarterly Review. We extract from it the passage in which that learned writer applies himself more particularly to the Morgante of Pulci. After showing that all the poets of this class adopted, as the groundwork of their fictions, the old wild materials which had for ages formed the stock in trade of the professed story-tellers,-in those days a class of per sons holding the same place in Christendom, and more especially in italy, which their brothers still maintain all over the East,-Foscolo thus proceeds :

"The customary forms of the narrative all find a place in romantic poetry such are,-the sententions reflections suggested by the matters which he has just related, or arising in anticipation of those which he is about to relate, and which the story-teller always opens when he resumes his recitations; his defence of his own merits against the attacks of rivals in trade; and his formal leave-taking when he parts from his audience, and invites them to meet him again on the morrow. This method of winding up each portion of the poem is a fa

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"The forms and materials of these popular stories were adopted by writers of a superior class, who considered the vulgar tales of their predecessors as blocks of marble finely tinted and variegated by the hand of nature, but which might afford a master-piece when tastefully worked and polished. The romantic poets treated the traditionary fictions just as Dante did the legends invented by the monks to i maintain their mastery over weak minds. He formed them into a pers which became the admiration of every age and nation: but Dante and Petrarca were poets who, though universally celebrated, were not universally understood. The learned found employment in writing com ments upon their poems; but the nation, without even excepting the higher ranks, knew them only by name. At the beginning of the fif teenth century, a few obscure authors began to write romances in prose and in rhyme, taking for their subject the wars of Charlemagne and Orlando, or sometimes the adventures of Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. These works were so pleasing, that they were rapidly multiplied but the bards of romance cared little about style or versification.-they sought for adventures, and enchantments, and miracles. We here obtain at least a partial explanation of the rapid decline of Italian poetry, and the amazing corruption of the Italian language, which took place immediately after the death of Petrarch, and which proceeded from bad to worse until the era of Lorenzo de Medici.

"It was then that Pulci composed his Morgante for the amusement

lately sprung up in England. I allude to that of the ingenious Whistlecraft. The serious poems on Roncesvalles in the same language, and more particularly the excellent one of Mr. Merivale, are to be traced to the same source. It has never yet been decided entirely whether Pulci's intention was or was not to deride the religion which is one of his favourite topics. It appears to me, that such an intention would have been no less hazardous to the poet than to the priest, particularly in that age and country; and the permission to publish the poem, and its reception among the classics of Italy, prove that it neither was nor is so

of Madonna Lucrezia, the mother of Lorenzo; and he used to recite
it at table to Ficino, and Politian, and Lorenzo, and the other illus-
trious characters who then flourished at Florence: yet Pulci adhered
strictly to the original plan of the popular story-tellers; and if his
successors have embellished them so that they can scarcely be re-
cognised, it is certain that in no other poem can they be found so
genuine and native as in the Morgante. Pulci accommodated himself,
though sportively, to the genius of his age: classical taste and sound
criticism began to prevail, and great endeavours were making by the
learned to separate historical truth from the chaos of fable and tra-
dition: so that, though Pulci introduced the most extravagant fables,
he affected to complain of the errors of his predecessors. 'I grieve,'
he said, for my Emperor Charlemagne; for I see that his history
has been badly written and worse understood.'

E del mio Carlo imperador m'increbbe:
È stata questa istoria, a quel ch'io veggio,
Di Carlo, male intesa e scritta peggio.'

And whilst he quotes the great historian Leonardo Aretino with
respect, he professes to believe the authority of the holy Archbishop
Turpin, who is also one of the heroes of the poem. In another pas-
sage, where he imitates the apologies of the story-tellers, he makes
a neat allusion to the taste of his audience. I know,' he says, that
I must proceed straight-forward, and not tell a single lie in the
course of my tale. This is not a story of mere invention: and if I
go one step out of the right road, one chastises, another criticises,
a third scolds-they try to drive me mad-but in fact they are out
of their senses.'

"Pulci's versification is remarkably fluent. Yet he is deficient in
melody; his language is pure, and his expressions flow naturally;
but his phrases are abrupt and unconnected, and he frequently
writes ungrammatically. His vigour degenerates into harshness;
and his love of brevity prevents the developement of his poetical
imagery. He bears all the marks of rude genius; he was capable of
delicate pleasantry, yet his smiles are usually bitter and severe. His
humour never arises from points, but from unexpected situations
The Emperor Charlemagne sentences King
strongly contrasted.
Marsilius of Spain to be hanged for high treason; and Archbishop
Turpin kindly offers his services on the occasion.

E' disse: lo vo', Marsilio, che tu muoja
Dove tu ordinasti il tradimento.
Disse Turpino: lo voglio fare il boja.
Carlo rispose: Ed io son ben contento
Che sia trattata di questi due cani
L'opera santa con le sante mani.'

"Here we have an emperor superintending the execution of a
king, who is hanged in the presence of a vast multitude, all of whom
are greatly edified at beholding an archbishop officiating in the
Before this adventure took place,
character of a finisher of the law.
Caradoro had despatched an ambassador to the emperor, complain-
ing of the shameful conduct of a wicked Paladin, who had seduced
the princess his daughter. The orator does not present himself with
modern diplomatic courtesy-

Macon t'abbatta come traditore,

O disleale e ingiusto imperadore!

A Caradoro e stato scritto, O Carlo,

O Carlo! O Carlo! (e crollava la testa)
De la tua corte, che non puoi negarlo,
De la sua figlia cosa disonesta.'

"O Charles,' he cried, Charles, Charles!'-and as he cried
He shook his head-a sad complaint I bring
Of shameful acts which cannot be denied:

King Caradore has ascertain'd the thing,
Which comes moreover proved and verified
By letters from your own side of the water
Respecting the behaviour of his daughter.'
"Such scenes may appear somewhat strange; but Caradoro's em-
bassy, and the execution of King Marsilins, are told in strict con-
formity to the notions of the common people, and as they must still
be described, if we wished to imitate the popular story-tellers. If
Pulci be occasionally refined and delicate, his snatches of amenity
resulted from the national character of the Florentines, and the re-
But, at the same time, we must trace to national
vival of letters.
character, and to the influence of his daily companions, the buffoon-
ery which, in the opinion of foreigners, frequently disgraces the
M. Ginguene has criticised Pulci in the usual style of his
poem.
Countrymen. He attributes modern manners to ancient times, and
takes it for granted that the individuals of every other nation think
On these principles, he concludes
and act like modern Frenchmen.
that Pulci, both with respect to his subject and to his mode of treat-
ing it, intended only to write burlesque poetry; because, as he says,

interpreted.

That he intended to ridicule the monastic life, and suffered his imagination to play with the simple dulness of his converted giant, seems evident enough; but surely it were as unjust to accuse him of irreligion on this account, as to denounce FieldBarnabas, Thwackum, ing for his Parson Adams, Supple, and the Ordinary in Jonathan Wild,-or Scott, for the exquisite use of his Covenanters in the Tales of my Landlord.

In the following translation I have used the liberty of the original with the proper names; as Pulci uses Gan, Ganellon, or Ganellone; Carlo, Carlomagno, or

such buffoonery could not have been introduced into a composition
recited to Lorenzo de' Medici and his enlightened guests, if the au-
In the fine portrait of Lorenzo
thor had intended to be in earnest.
given by Machiavelli at the end of his Florentine history, the histo-
rian complains that he took more pleasure in the company of jesters
It is a little singular that
and buffoons than beseemed such a man.
Benedetto Varchi, a contemporary historian, makes the same com-
plaint of Machiavelli himself. Indeed, many known anecdotes of
Machiavelli, no less than his fugitive pieces, prove that it was only
when he was acting the statesman that he wished to be grave; and
that he could laugh like other men when he laid aside his dignity.
We do not think he was in the wrong. But, whatever opinion may
be formed on the subject, we shall yet be forced to conclude that
great men may be compelled to blame the manners of their times,
without being able to withstand their influence. In other respects,
And here
the poem of Pulci is serious, both in subject and in tone.
we shall repeat a general observation, which we advise our readers
to apply to all the romantic poems of the Italians-That their comic
humour arises from the contrast between the constant endeavours of
the writers to adhere to the forms and subjects of the popular story-
tellers, and the efforts made at the same time by the genius of these
writers to render such materials interesting and sublime.

This simple elucidation of the causes of the poetical character of the Morgante has been overlooked by the critics; and they have therefore disputed with great earnestness during the last two centuries, whether the Morgante is written in jest or earnest; and whether Pulci is not an atheist, who wrote in verse for the express purpose of scoffing at all religion. Mr. Merivale inclines, in his Orlando in Roncesvalles, to the opinion of M. Ginguené, that the Morgante is decidedly to be considered as a burlesque poem, and a satire against Yet Mr. Merivale himself acknowledges that the Christian religion

it is wound up with a tragical effect, and dignified by religious sen-
timent; and is therefore forced to leave the question amongst the
unexplained, and perhaps inexplicable, phenomena of the human
mind. If a similar question had not been already decided, both in
regard to Shakspeare and to Ariosto, it might be still a subject of
dispute whether the former intended to write tragedies, and whether
the other did not mean to burlesque his heroes. It is a happy thing
that, with regard to those two great writers, the war has ended by
the fortunate intervention of the general body of readers, who, on
such occasions, form their judgment with less erudition and with
But Pulci is little read, and
less prejudice than the critics.
We are told by Mr. Merivale, that the
his age is little known.
points of abstruse theology are discussed in the Morgante with a
degree of sceptical freedom which we should imagine to be alto-
gether remote from the spirit of the fifteenth century.' Mr. Me-
And the philo-
rivale follows M. Ginguene, who follows Voltaire.
sopher of Ferney, who was always beating up in all quarters for
allies against Christianity, collected all the scriptural passages of
Pulci, upon which he commented in his own way. But it is only
since the Council of Trent, that any doubt which might be raised on
a religious dogma exposed an author to the charge of impiety;
whilst, in the fifteenth century, a Catholic might be sincerely devout
and yet allow himself a certain degree of latitude in theological
doubt. At one and the same time the Florentines might well believe
in the Gospel and laugh at a doctor of divinity: for it was exactly
at this era that they liad been spectators of the memorable contro-
versies between the representatives of the eastern and western
churches. Greek and Latin bishops from every corner of Christen-
dom had assembled at Florence, for the purpose of trying whether
they could possibly understand each other, and when they separated,
they hated each other worse than before. At the very time when Pulci
was composing his Morgante, the clergy of Florence protested against
the excommunications pronounced by Sixtus IV., and with expressions
by which his holiness was anathematised in his turn. During these
proceedings, an archbishop, convicted of being a papal emissary,
was hanged from one of the windows of the government palace at
Florence this event may have suggested to Pulci the idea of con-
The romantic poets
verting another archbishop into a hangman.
substituted literary and scientific observations for the trivial digres
sions of the story-tellers. This was a great improvement: and al-
though it was not well managed by Pulci, yet he presents us with
much curious incidental matter. In quoting his philosophical friend
and contemporary Matteo Palmieri, he explains the instinct of
brutes by a bold hypothesis-he supposes that they are animated by
evil spirits. This idea gave no offence to the theologians of the fif-
teenth century; but it excited much orthodox indignation when Fa-
ther Bougeant, a French monk, brought it forward as a new theory
of his own. Mr. Merivale, after observing that Pulci died before
the discovery of America by Columbus, quotes a passage which will
become a very interesting document for the philosophical historian.'
We give it in his prose translation:-The water is level through its

326

Carlomano; Rondel, or Rondello, etc. as it suits his convenience; so has the translator. In other respects the version is faithful, to the best of the translator's ability, in combining his interpretation of the one language with the not very easy task of reducing it to the same versification in the other. The reader, on comparing it with the original, is requested to remember that the antiquated language of Pulci, however pure, is not easy to the generality of Italians themselves, from its great mixture of Tuscan proverbs; and he may therefore be more indulgent to the present attempt. How far the translator has succeeded, and whether or no he shall continue the work, are questions which the public will decide. He was induced

whole extent, although, like the earth, it has the form of a globe. Mankind in those ages were much more ignorant than now. Hercules would blush at this day for having fixed his columns. Vessels will soon pass far beyond them. They may soon reach another hemisphere, because every thing tends to its centre; in like manner, as by a divine mystery, the earth is suspended in the midst of the stars; here below are cities and empires, which were ancient. The inhabitants of those regions were called Antipodes. They have plants and animals as well as you, and wage wars as well as you.'-Morgante, c. xxv. st. 229, etc.

"The more we consider the traces of ancient science, which break in transient flashes through the darkness of the middle ages, and which gradually re-illuminated the horizon, the more shall we be disposed to adopt the hypothesis suggested by Bailly, and supported by him with seductive eloquence. He maintained that all the acquire ments of the Greeks and Romans had been transmitted to them as the wrecks and fragments of the knowledge once possessed by primæval nations, by empires of sages and philosophers, who were afterwards swept from the face of the globe by some overwhelming catastrophe. His theory may be considered as extravagant; but if the literary productions of the Romans were not yet extant, it would seem incredible that, after the lapse of a few centuries, the civilisation of the Augustan age could have been succeeded in Italy by such barbarity. The Italians were so ignorant, that they forgot their family names; and before the eleventh century individuals were known only by their Christian names. They had an indistinct idea, in the middle ages, of the existence of the antipodes; but it was a reminiscence of ancient knowledge. Dante has indicated the number and position of the stars composing the polar constellation of the Austral hemisphere. At the same time he tells us, that when Lucifer was hurled from the celestial regions, the arch-devil transfixed the globe; half his body remained on our side of the centre of the earth, and half on the other side. The shock given to the earth by his fall drove a great portion of the waters of the ocean to the southern he misphere, and only one high mountain remained uncovered, upon which Dante places his purgatory. As the fall of Lucifer happened before the creation of Adam, it is evident that Dante did not admit that the southern hemisphere had ever been inhabited; but, about thirty years afterwards, Petrarch, who was better versed in the an cient writers, ventured to hint that the sun shone upon mortals who were unknown to us:

Nella stagion che il ciel rapido inchina
Vers' occidente, e che il di nostro vola
A gente che di là forse l'aspetta.'

"In the course of half a century after Petrarch, another step was
gained. The existence of the antipodes was fully demonstrated. Pulci
raises a devil to announce the fact; but it had been taught to him
by his fellow-citizen Paolo Toscanelli, an excellent astronomer and
mathematician, who wrote in his old age to Christopher Columbus,
exhorting him to undertake his expedition.
been translated by Mr. Merivale, with some slight variations, which
A few stanzas have
do not wrong the original. They may be considered as a specimen
of Pulci's poetry, when he writes with imagination and feeling.
Orlando bids farewell to his dying horse:-

His faithful steed, that long had served him well
In peace and war, now closed his languid eye,
Kneel'd at his feet, and seem'd to say "Farewell!
I've brought thee to the destined port, and die."
Orlando felt anew his sorrows swell
When he beheld his Brigliadoro lie
Stretch'd on the field, that crystal fount beside,
Stiffen'd his limbs, and cold his warlike pride:

And, "O my much-loved steed, my generous friend,
Companion of my better years!" he said;
"And have I lived to see so sad an end

Of all thy toils, and thy brave spirit fled?

O pardon me, if e'er I did offend

With hasty wrong that mild and faithful head!"

Just then, his eyes a momentary light

Flash'd quick;-then closed again in endless night.”
"When Orlando is expiring on the field of battle, an angel de-
scends to him, and promises that Alda his wife shall join him in
paradise.

Bright with eternal youth and fadeless bloom,
Thine Aldabella thou shalt behold once more,
Partaker of a bliss beyond the tomb

With her whom Sinai's holy hills adore,

to make the experiment partly by his love for, and partial intercourse with, the Italian language, of which it is so easy to acquire a slight knowledge, and with which it is so nearly impossible for a foreigner to become accurately conversant. The Italian language is like a capricious beauty, who accords her smiles to all, her favours to few, and sometimes least to those also to present in an English dress a part at least of who have courted her longest. The translator wished a poem never yet rendered into a northern language; at the same time that it has been the original of some Alps, as well as of those recent experiments in poetry of the most celebrated productions on this side of the in England which have been already mentioned. (1)

Crown'd with fresh flowers, whose colour and perfume
Surpass what Spring's rich bosom ever bore-
Thy mourning widow here she will remain,
And be in heaven thy joyful spouse again.'

"Whilst the soul of Orlando was soaring to heaven, a soft and plaintive strain was heard, and angelic voices joined in celestial harmony. They sang the psalm, When Israel went out of Egypt;" and the singers were known to be angels from the trembling of their wings.

Poi si senti con un suon dolce e fioco
Certa armonia con si soavi accenti
Che ben parea d' angelici stromenti.

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'In exitu Israel, cantar, de Ægypto, Sentito fu degli angeli solenne

Che si conobbe al tremolar le penne.'

"Dante has inserted passages from the Vulgate in his Divina Commedia; and Petrarch, the most religious of poets, quotes Scripture even when he is courting. Yet they were not accused of im piety. Neither did Pulci incur the danger of a posthumous excommunication until after the Reformation, when Pius V. (a Dominican, who was turned into a saint by a subsequent pope) promoted the welfare of holy mother church by burning a few wicked books, and hanging a few troublesome authors. The notion that Pulci was in the odour of heresy influenced the opinion of Milton, who only speaks of the Morgante as a sportful romance.' Milton was ansious to prove that Catholic writers had ridiculed popish divines, and that the Bible had been subjected to private judgment, notwithstanding the popes had prohibited the reading of it. His ardour did not allow him to stop and examine whether this prohibition might not be posterior to the death of Pulci. Milton had studied Pulei to advantage. The knowledge which he ascribes to his devils, their despairing repentance, the lofty sentiments which he bestows upon some of them, and, above all, the principle that, notwithstanding their crime and its punishment, they retain the grandeur and perfection of angelic nature, are all to be found in the Morgante as well as in Paradise Lost. Ariosto and Tasso have imitated other passages. When great poets borrow from their inferiors in genius, they turn their acquisitions to such advantage that it is difficult to detect their thefts, and still more difficult to blame them.

"The poem is filled with kings, knights, giants, and devils. There are many battles and many duels. Wars rise out of wars, and empires are conquered in a day. Pulci treats us with plenty of magic aud enchantment. His love-adventures are not peculiarly interesting; and, with the exception of four or five leading personages, his characters are of no moment. The fable turns wholly upon the hatred which Ganellon, the felon knight of Maganza, bears towards Orlando and the rest of the Christian Paladins. Charlemagne is easily prac tised upon by Ganellon, his prime confidant and man of business, So he treats Orlando and his friends in the most scurvy manner imaginable, and sends them out to hard service in the wars against France. Ganellon is despatched to Spain to treat with King Marsilius, being also instructed to obtain the cession of a kingdom for Orlando; but he concerts a treacherous device with the Spaniards, and Orlando is killed at the battle of Roncesvalles. The intrigues of Ganellon, his spite, his patience, his obstinacy, his dissimulation, his affected humility, and his inexhaustible powers of intrigue, are admirably depicted and his character constitutes the chief and finest feature in the poem. Charlemagne is a worthy monarch, but easily gulled. Orlando is a real hero, chaste and disinterested, and who fights in good earnest for the propagation of the faith. He bap tizes the giant Morgante, who afterwards serves him like a faithful squire. There is another giant, whose name is Margutte. Morgante falis in with Margutte, and they become sworn brothers. Margutte is a very infidel giant, ready to confess his failings, and full of drollery. He sets all a-laughing, readers, giants, devils, and heroes; and he finishes his career by laughing till he bursts."

The reader is referred to Moore's Life of Lord Byron, for his letters written when he was engaged on his version of the Morgante. Great part of them is occupied with anxious endeavours to ascertain whether usbergo means a helmet or a cuirass; a point on which the slightest knowledge of German would have been sufficient to make him easy. Usbergo is only another form of our own hauberk, and both are manifest corruptions of the German halsberg, i. e. covering of the neck.-L. E.

(1) "About the Morgante Maggiore, I won't have a line

MORGANTE MAGGIORE.

CANTO I.

I.

In the beginning was the word next God;
God was the Word, the Word no less was he:
This was in the beginning, to my mode

Of thinking, and without him nought could be:
Therefore, just Lord! from out thy high abode,
Benign and pious, bid an angel flee,
One only, to be my companion, who

Shall help my famous, worthy, old song through.

II.

And thou, O Virgin! daughter, mother, bride, Of the same Lord, who gave to you each key Of heaven, and hell, and every thing beside,

The day thy Gabriel said "All hail!" to thee, Since to thy servants pity's ne'er denied,

With flowing rhymes, a pleasant style and free, Be to my verses then benignly kind, And to the end illuminate my mind.

III.

"Twas in the season when sad Philomel

Weeps with her sister, who remembers and Deplores the ancient woes which both befell,

And makes the nymphs enamour'd, to the hand Of Phaeton, by Phoebus loved so well,

His car (but temper'd by his sire's command) Was given, and on the horizon's verge just now Appear'd, so that Tithonus scratch'd his brow:

IV.

When I prepared my bark first to obey,

As it should still obey, the helm, my mind, And carry prose or rhyme, and this my lay

Of Charles the Emperor, whom you will find By several pens already praised; but they

Who to diffuse his glory were inclined, For all that I can see in prose or verse, Have understood Charles badly, and wrote worse.

V.

Leonardo Aretino said already,

That if, like Pepin, Charles had had a writer Of genius quick, and diligently steady,

No hero would in history look brighter; He in the cabinet being always ready,

And in the field a most victorious fighter, Who for the church and Christian faith had wrought, Certes, far more than yet is said or thought.

VI.

You still may see at Saint Liberatore

The abbey, no great way from Manopell,

omitted. It may circulate or it may not, but all the criticism on earth sha'nt touch a line, unless it be because it is badly translated. Now you say, and I say, and others say, that the translation is a good one, and so it shall go to press as it is. Pulci must answer for his own irreligion: 1 answer for the translation only." Lord B. to Mr. Murray, Ravenna, 1820.

"The Morgante is the best translation that ever was or will be made."-Lord B. to Mr. Moore. Pisa, 1822.

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"The self-will of Lord Byron was in no point more conspicuous than in the determination with which he thus persisted in giving the preference to one or two works of his own which, in the eyes of all other persons, were most decided failures. Of this class was the translation from Pulci so frequently mentioned by him, which appeared afterwards in The Liberal, and which, though thus rescued from the fate of remaining unpublished, must for ever, I fear, submit to the doom of being unread." Moore.-P. E.

XII.

"A thousand times I've been about to say,

Orlando too presumptuously goes on;

Here are we, counts, kings, dukes, to own thy sway,
Hamo, and Otho, Ogier, Solomon,
Each have to honour thee and to obey;

But he has too much credit near the throne,
Which we won't suffer, but are quite decided
By such a boy to be no longer guided.

XIII.

"And even at Aspramont thou didst begin

To let him know he was a gallant knight, And by the fount did much the day to win; But I know who that day had won the fight If it had not for good Gherardo been:

The victory was Almonte's else; his sight He kept upon the standard, and the laurels In fact and fairness are his earning, Charles. XIV.

"If thou remember'st being in Gascony,

When there advanced the nations out of Spain,
The Christian cause had suffer'd shamefully,

Had not his valour driven them back again.
Best speak the truth when there's a reason why:
Know then, O emperor! that all complain:
As for myself, I shall repass the mounts
O'er which I cross'd with two and sixty counts.
XV.

""Tis fit thy grandeur should dispense relief,

So that each here may have his proper part, For the whole court is more or less in grief: Perhaps thou deem'st this lad a Mars in heart?" Orlando one day heard this speech in brief,

As by himself it chanced he sate apart:
Displeased he was with Gan because he said it,
But much more still that Charles should give him credit.
XVI.

And with the sword he would have murder'd Gan,
But Oliver thrust in between the pair,
And from his hand extracted Durlindan,

And thus at length they separated were.
Orlando, angry too with Carloman,

Wanted but little to have slain him there; Then forth alone from Paris went the chief, And burst and madden'd with disdain and grief. XVII.

From Ermellina, consort of the Dane,

He took Cortana, and then took Rondell, And on towards Brara prick'd him o'er the plain; And when she saw him coming, Aldabelle Stretch'd forth her arms to clasp her lord again: Orlando, in whose brain all was not well, As "Welcome, my Orlando, home," she said, Raised up his sword to smite her on the head. XVIII.

Like him a fury counsels; his revenge

On Gan in that rash act he seem'd to take,
Which Aldabella thought extremely strange:
But soon Orlando found himself awake;
And his spouse took his bridle on this change,
And he dismounted from his horse, and spake
Of every thing which pass'd without demur,
And then reposed himself some days with her.

XIX.

Then full of wrath departed from the place,
And far as pagan countries roam'd astray,
And while he rode, yet still at every pace

The traitor Gan remember'd by the way;
And wandering on in error a long space,

An abbey which in a lone desert lay,
'Midst glens obscure, and distant lands, he found,
Which form'd the Christian's and the pagan's bound.
XX.

The abbot was call'd Clermont, and by blood
Descended from Angrante: under cover
Of a great mountain's brow the abbey stood,
But certain savage giants look'd him over;
One Passamont was foremost of the brood,
And Alabaster and Morgante hover
Second and third, with certain slings, and throw
In daily jeopardy the place below.

XXI.

The monks could pass the convent gate no more, Nor leave their cells for water or for wood; Orlando knock'd, but none would ope, before Unto the prior it at length seem'd good; Enter'd, he said that he was taught to adore

Him who was born of Mary's holiest blood, And was baptized a Christian; and then show'd How to the abbey he had found his road.

XXII.

Said the abbot, "You are welcome; what is mine
We give you freely, since that you believe
With us in Mary Mother's Son divine;

And that you may not, cavalier, conceive
The cause of our delay to let you in

To be rusticity, you shall receive
The reason why our gate was barr'd to you:
Thus those who in suspicion live must do.
XXIII.

"When hither to inhabit first we came

These mountains, albeit that they are obscure, As you perceive, yet without fear or blame They seem'd to promise an asylum sure: From savage brutes alone, too fierce to tame, "T was fit our quiet dwelling to secure; But now, if here we'd stay, we needs must guard Against domestic beasts with watch and ward.

XXIV.

"These make us stand, in fact, upon the watch;
For late there have appear'd three giants rough;
What nation or what kingdom bore the batch
I know not, but they are all of savage stuff;
When force and malice with some genius match,
You know, they can do all-we are not enough:
And these so much our orisons derange,
I know not what to do, till matters change.
XXV.

"Our ancient fathers living the desert in,

For just and holy works were duly fed; Think not they lived on locusts sole, 'tis certain That manna was rain'd down from heaven instead; But here 'tis fit we keep on the alert in [bread,

Our bounds, or taste the stones shower'd down for From off yon mountain daily raining faster, And flung by Passamont and Alabaster.

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