« ElőzőTovább »
seventh ; then an righth ; thes a ninth, all with decent inferrals, the coach in the mean time rocking as if it were giving birth to 80°m999 dæmons. The coachman can conclade no less. Ile cries out, Devil! the Devil!" and is preparing to run away, when they all hurst into laughter at the success of their joke. They had gone
round they descended, and got in at the other door.
We remember in our boyhood, an edifying comment on the proverb of "all is not gold that glistens." The spectacle made such an imprese sion upon us, that we
e recollect the very spot, which was at the corner of road in the way from Westminster to Kennington, near a stone'mason's. It was a severe winter; and we were out on a holiday, thinking perhaps of the gallant hardships to which the ancient soldiers used to accustom themselves, when we suddenly beheld a group of hackney. coachmen, uot, as Spenser says of his witch,
Bury, as seemed, about some wicked gin, but pledging each other in what appeared to us to be little glasses of cold water. What temperance! thought we.
What extraordinary and noble content! What more than Roman simplicity! There are a set of poor Englishmen, of the homeliest order, in the very depth of winter, quenching their patient and honourable thirst, with modicums of cold water ! O true virtue and courage! O sight worthy of the Timoleons and Epaminondases ! - We know not how long we remained in this error; but the first time we recognised the white devil for what it was,—the first time we saw through the chrystal fiue rity of its appearance, was a great blow to us. We did not then know what the drinkers went through; and this reminds us that we have omitted one great redemption of the hackney-coachman's character, his being at the mercy of all sorts of chances and weathers. Other drivers have their settied hours and pay. 'Ile only is at the moscy of every call and every casualty; he only is dragged, without notice, like the damned in Milton, into the extremities of wet and coli, from his alehouse fire to the freezing rain ; he only must go any slerl, at what hour, and to whatever place you chuse, his old rhesmaiic litehs shaking under his weight of sags, and the suot and sleet rating into his puckered face, through streets which the wind scours like a channel.
With all Ariosío's popularity, this is the first time, we believe, iliat one of liis sonnets has appeared in English. Indeed, as for that matter, his great poem itself may be said to be very little known througi the medium of the versions hitherto extant; and he must hare an indestructible charm in him indeed, who with such representations of him, can at all vindicate among us the popularity of his wame abroad, • That he deserres that name is certain. Those who read him in the original (and Italian is far from dificult to any body, especially if
he reads Latin or Fronch) know what an endless variety be bas of
Avventuroso carcere soare,
O lucky prison, blithe captivity,
Printed and published by JOSEPH APPLEYARD, No. 19, Catherine-street, Strand.
Price 2d. And sold also by A. Glippon, Importer of Snuffs, No. 31, Tavistocka street, Covent-garden. Orders received at the above places, and by all Books sellers and Newsmen.
There he arriving round about doth flie,
No. XLVIII.-WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6th, 1820.
TRANSLATION OF ANDREA DE BASSO'S ODE TO A DEAD BODY;
AND REMARKS UPON IT.
We are given to understand by the Italian critics, that the following ode made a great sensation, and was alone thought sufficient to render its author of celebrity. Its loathly heroine had been a beauty of Ferrara, proud and luxurious. It is written in a fierce Catholic spirit, and is incontestibly very striking and even appalling. Images, which would only be disgusting on other occasions, affect us beyond disgust, by the strength of such earnestness and sincerity, He lays bare the mortifying conclusions of the grave, and makes the pride of beauty bow down to them. What we have to say further on the poem, will better follow than precede it.
Risorga de la tomba avara e lorda
te se fosse.
Vedrai se ognun di te mettrà paura,
E tornerai dentro l'immonde bolge
Due stelle risplendenti?
Dove orror gol si scerne.
E dove simmetria di portamento?
Non tel diss'io, tante fiate e tante,
E non parrai più quella,
Or. ecco vedi il frutto
Argine al mio fallire.
Canzon, vanne là dentro
Rise from the loathsome and devouring tomb, Give up thy body, woman without heart, Now that its worldly part Is over; and deaf, blind, and dumb, Thou servest worms for food : And from thine altitude Fierce death has shaken thee down, and thou dost fit Thy bed within a pit. Night, endless night hath got thee To clutch and to englut thee; And rottengess confounds Thy limbs and their sleek rounds; And thou art stuck there, stuck there, in despite, Like a foul animal in a trap at night. Come in the public path, and see how all Shall fly thee, as a child goes shrieking back From something long and black, That mocks along the wall. See if the kind will stay To hear what thou wouldst say; See if thine arms can win One soul to think of sin; See if the tribe of wooers Will now become pursuers ; And if where they make way, Thou’lt carry now the day; Or whether ihou wilt spread not such foul night, That thou thyself shalt feel tke shudder and the fright. Yes, till tliou turn into the loathly hole, As the least pain to thy bold-facedness. There let thy foul distress Turn sound upon thy soul,