XCVIII.
We learn from Horace, Homer sometimes sleeps ;

We feel without him, Wordsworth sometimes wakes,
To show with what complacency he creeps,

With his dear Waggoners, around his lakes;
He wishes for “ a boat” to sail the deeps

Of ocean ?-no, of air ; and then he makes
Another outcry for “a little boat,"
And drivels seas to set it well afloat.

XCIX.
If he must fain sweep o'er the etherial plain,

And Pegasus runs restive in his “ waggon,"
Could he not beg the loan of Charles's Wain?
Or
pray

Medea for a single dragon ?
Or if, too classic for his vulgar brain,

He fear'd his neck to venture such a nag on, And he must needs mount nearer to the moon, Could not the blockhead ask for a balloon ?

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C. " Pedlars," and " boats,” and “ waggons !"

!" Oh! ye shades Of Pope and Dryden, are we come to this ? That trash of such sort not alone evades

Contempt, but from the bathos' vast abyss
Floats scum-like uppermost, and these Jack Cades
Of sense and

song
above
your graves may

hissa
The " little boatman" and his “ Peter Bell"
Can sneer at him who drew “ Achitophel !".

CI.
T' our tale.—The feast was over, the slaves gone,

The dwarfs and dancing girls had all retired ;
The Arab lore and poet's song were done,

And every sound of revelry expired; The lady and her lover, left alone,

The rosy flood of twilight sky admired ; Ave Maria ! o'er the earth and

sea, That heavenliest hour of heaven is worthiest thee!

CII.
Ave Maria ! blessed be the hour !

The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft
Have felt that moment in its fullest power
Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft,

the deep bell in the distant tower,
Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft,
And not a breath crept through the rosy air,
And yet the forest leaves seem stirr'd with prayer.

While swung

CIII. Ave Maria ! 't is the hour of prayer !

Ave Maria ! 't is the hour of love! Ave Maria ! may our spirits dare

Look up to thine and to thy Son's above !
Ave Maria! oh that face so fair !

Those downcast eyes beneath the almighty dove-
What though 't is but a pictured image strike-
That painting is no idol, 't is too like.

CIV.

Some kinder casuists are pleased to say,

In nameless print, that I have no devotion ;
But set those persons down with me to pray,
And
you

shall see who has the properest notion Of getting into heaven the shortest way ;

My altars are the mountains and the ocean, Earth, air, stars,—all that springs from the great Whole Who hath produced, and will receive the soul.

CV. Sweet hour of twilight! in the solitude

Of the pine forest and the silent shore Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood,

Rooted where once the Adrian wave flow'd o'er, To where the last Cæsarian fortress stood,

Ever-green forest! which Boccaccio's lore And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me, How have I loved the twilight hour and thee!

CVI. The shrill cicalas, people of the pine,

Making their summer lives one ceaseless song, Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine,

And vesper-bell's that rose the boughs along : The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line,

His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throng, Which learn’d from this example not to fly From a true lover, shadow'd

my

mind's eye.

:

CVII.
Oh Hesperus ! 5 thou bringest all good things-

Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer,
To the young bird the parent's brooding wings,

The welcome stall to the o’erlabour'd steer;
Whate'er of peace about our hearthstone clings,

Whate'er our household gods protect of dear,
Are gather'd round us by thy look of rest;
Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast.

CVIII. Soft hour ! 6 which wakes the wish and melts the heart

Of those who sail the seas, on the first day When they from their sweet friends are torn apart ;

Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way,
As the far bell of vesper makes him start,

Seeming to weep the dying day's decay;
Is this a fancy which our reason scorns ?
Ah! surely nothing dies but something mourns !

CIX.

When Nero perish'd by the justest doom

Which ever the destroyer yet destroy'd, Amidst the roar of liberated Rome,

Of nations freed, and the world overjoy’d,
Some hands unseen strew'd flowers upon his tomb : 7

Perhaps the weakness of a heart not void
Of feeling for some kindness done, when power
Had left the wretch an uncorrupted hour.

CX.
But I 'm digressing ; what on earth has Nero,
Or

any such like sovereign buffoons, To do with the transactions of my hero,

More than such madmen's fellow-man-the moon's ?
Sure invention must be down at zero,
And I
grown

of
many

- wooden spoons" Of verse (the name with which we Cantabs please To dub the last of honours in degrees).

CXI.
I feel this tediousness will never do-

'T is being too epic, and I must cut down (In copying) this long canto into two :

They 'll never find it out, unless I own The fact, excepting some experienced few;

And then as an improvement 't will be shown : I 'll prove that such the opinion of the critic is From Aristotle passim.-See IlointiXnS.

:

NOTES TO CANTO III.

Note 1. Stanza xlv.

For none likes more to hear himself converse.

Rispose allor Margutte: a dirtel tosto,

Io non credo più al uero, ch'a l'azzurro;
Ma nel cappone, o lesso, o vuogli arrosto;

E credo alcuna volta anco del burro,
Ne la cervogia, e quand' io n’ho nel mosto;'

E molto più ne l'aspro che il mangurro;
Ma sopra tutto nel buon vino ho fede;
E credo che sia salvo chi gli crede.

PULCI, Morgante Maggiore, Canto 18, Stanza 115.

Note 2. Stanza lxxi.

That e'er by precious metal was held in. This dress is Moorish, and the bracelets and bar are worn in the manner described. The reader will perceive hereafter, that, as the mother of Haidee was of Fez, her daughter wore the garb of the country.

Note 3. Stanza lxxii.

A like gold bar, above her instep rollid.' The bar of gold above the instep is a mark of sovereign rank in the women of the families of the Deys, and is worn as such by their female relatives.

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Note 4. Stanza lxxiii.

Her person if allow'd at large to run. This is no exaggeration; there were four women whom I remember to have seen, who possessed their hair in this profusion; of these, three were English, the other was a Levantine. Their hair was of that length and quantity that, when let down, it almost entirely shaded the person, so as nearly to render dress a superfluity. Of these, only one had dark hair; the Oriental's had, perhaps, the lightest colour of the four.

Note 6. Slanza cvij.

Soft hour ! which wakes the wish and melts the heart.

Era già l'ora che volge il disio,

A'naviganti, e 'ntenerisce il cuore ;
Lo di ch' han detto a' dolci amici addio,

E che lo nuovo peregrin d'amore
Punge, se ode Squilla di lontano,
Che paja 'l giorno pianger che si muore.

Dante's Purgatory, Canto viii.
This last line is the first of Gray's Elegy, taken by him without acknowledgment.