lectual revelry, farewell! Yet still, like Ovid quit ting Rome for Scythia— "Sæpè vale dicens, multùm sum deinde locutus, Et quasi discedens oscula summa dedi : loath to depart, I have once more opened the volume of the enchanter, and must indulge myself in a last lingering look at one-perhaps the loftiest of Béranger's lays. It is addressed by him to a fair incognita; but in my version I have taken the liberty of giving a more intelligible and, I fear not to add, more appropriate direction to the splendid allegory. L'Ange exile. A Corinne de L******. Je veux pour vous prendre un ton moins frivole, Dieu sur leur front fait tomber sa parole, Ange aux yeux bleus, protégez-moi toujours! L'enfer mugit d'un effroyable rire, Quand, dégoûté de l'orgueil des méchans, Fait éclater ses remords et ses chants. Dieu d'un regard l'arrache au gouffre immonde, La Poésie enivrera le monde Ange aux yeux bleus, protégez-moi toujours! Vers nous il vole, en secouant ses ailes, Tout culte alors n'était que l'harmonie — Aux cieux jamais Dieu ne dit, "Soyez sourds!" L'autel s'épure aux parfums du génie!— Ange aux yeux bleus, protégez-moi toujours! En vain l'enfer, des clameurs de l'envie, Et sous le dais montre au doigt les tyrans. Qui peut me dire où luit son auréole? De son exil Dieu l'a-t-il rappelé ? Mais vous chantez, mais votre voix console- Pour un long vol vous déployez vos ailes ! — Ange aux yeux bleus, protégez-moi toujours! 1 The Angel of Poetry. To L. E. L. Lady! for thee a holier key shall harmonise the chord In Heaven's defence Omnipotence drew an avenging sword; saken: There he'd lament his banishment, his thoughts to grief abandon, And weep his full. 'Twas pitiful to see him weep, fair Landon! He wept his fault! song; Hell's gloomy vault grew vocal with his But all throughout derision's shout burst from the guilty throng: Came upon earth, and lutes gave birth to sweetest minstrelsy; Religion rose! man sought repose in the shadow of her wings; Music for her walked harbinger, and Genius touch'd the strings: Tears from the tree of Araby cast on her altar burn'd, But earth and wave most fragrance gave where Poetry sojourn'd. Vainly, with hate inveterate, hell labour'd, in its rage, To persecute that angel's lute, and cross his pilgrimage: Unmoved and calm, his songs pour'd balm on sorrow all the while; Vice he unmask'd, but virtue bask'd in the radiance of his smile. O where, among the fair and young, or in what kingly court, Leave me to guess, fair poetess! queen of the matchless lay! 193 No. XI. THE SONGS OF ITALY. CHAPTER I. From the Prout Papers. "Latiùs opinione disseminatum est hoc malum: manavit non solùm per Galliam, sed etiam transcendit Alpes, et obscurè serpens multas jam provincias occupavit.” CICERO in Catilinam, Or. IV. Starting from France, across Mount Cenis, Prout visits Mantua and Venice; Through many a tuneful province strolls, O. Y. FROM the contents of " the chest❞ hitherto put forth by us to the gaze of a discriminating public, the sagacious glance of the critic, unless his eye happen to be somehow " by drop serene or dim suffusion veiled," must have scanned pretty accurately the peculiar cast and character of old Prout's genius. |