SONNETTO XXXIV.

Dice essersi levato col pensiero infino al cielo, e quivi aver veduto Laura che lo prese per mano e parlogli. Dice in ultimo che al suon delle sue parole poco mancò che non morisse di dolcezza. Questo si può dir veramente il più bel sonnetto del Petrarca.

Levommi il mio pensier in parte, ov'era

Quella, ch'io cerco e non ritrovo in terra ;
Ivi fra lor, che'l terzo cerchio 1 serra,
La rividi più bella, e meno altera.

Per man mi prese, e disse: 'In questa spera
Sarai ancor meco, se 'l desir non erra :
I'son colei che ti diè tanta guerra,
E compiè mia giornata innanzi sera,
"Mio ben non cape,2 in intelletto umano ;
Te solo aspetto, e quel che tanto amasti,
E laggiuso è rimaso, il mio bel velo." 3
Deh perchè tacque ed allargò la mano?
Ch' al suon de' detti, si pietosi e casti,
Poco mancò, ch'io non rimasi in cielo.

TRANSLATED BY GEORGIANA, DUCHESS OF Devonshire

In spirit I had mounted to the sphere

Where she amidst its gentle inmates beam'd,
Whom still I fondly seek, but found not here :
More beautiful and less severe she seem'd.

She press'd my hand, and said, "In this bright star
With me, if hope deceive not, thou shalt dwell:
That maid I am who caused thy live-long war,
And closed her day of life ere evening fell.

1 Il terzo cerchio. Si finge rapito al terzo cielo, luogo assegnato dai. Poeti agli amanti virtuosi e casti.

2 Mio ben non cape, ac. l' intelletto umano non è capace di comprendere la pienezza della mia felicità.

3 Te şolo aspetto e il mio bel velo (il corpo), cioè, quello che tu tanto amasti e ch'è rimaso laggiuso sulla terra.-Commentator's Note.

My bliss transcends the reach of human mind :

Thee only I desire, and what thou prized'st so much, Those beauteous spoils, I left on earth behind."

Why ceased she, why withdrew the pledge thus given?

That chaste, that thrilling voice, that holy touch,

Had sure sufficed to keep my soul in heaven!

CHAPTER XIII.

The Duchess's Fugitive Poetry-The Late Lord Morley-Borino the Brave -His Feats at Melton described in Verse by George Ellis-Short Notice of that Gentleman-The Duchess of Devonshire's Lines on a Bust of Charles James Fox-Her Verses from a Blind Man to his Wife-Death of her Grace-Anecdote of Lady Bessborough.— Visit to the Vault of the Cavendishes-Elizabeth, Duchess of Devonshire-Gibbon in Love-Sketch of her Grace's Character— Her Patronage of Literature, and Antiquarian Researches.

No doubt many other examples of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire's, taste and acquirements exist in the domestic archives of Chatsworth; but though they were not accessible to me, I trust I have in some degree succeeded in my attempt to awaken the reader's interest in the lovely authoress of the fugitive poetry that I now transcribe from Brummell's album, and which, after diligent search, I have not discovered in print. The first piece gives ample evidence of her classical taste, and the richness and elegance of her imagination.

"Here, in the bower of beauty, newly shorn,
Let Fancy sit, and sing how Love was born;
Wrapt up in roses, Zephyr found the child
In Flora's cheek, when first the goddess smiled;
Nursed on the bosom of the beauteous Spring,
O'er her white breast he spread his purple wing.

On kisses fed, and silver drops of dew,
The little wanton into Cupid grew ;

Then arm'd his head with glittering sparks of fire,

And tipp'd his shining arrows with desire.

Hence joys arose upon the wings of wind,

And Hope presents the lover always kind;
Despair creates a rival for our fears,

And tender Pity softens into tears."

The stanzas that follow are not so imaginative, but more natural, and on that account, more pleasing.

"My cherish'd hope, my fondest dream,

Still, dearest! rests on thee;

A blank without thee all would seem,
And life would lifeless be.

The place thy presence glads to seek
Is where I'm ever best;

And when I hear thee kindly speak,
And speak to me, I'm blest.

But should hard fate command it so,
Still, dearest! I'm resign'd;
And if from me thou'rt bent to go,
Or alter'd, or unkind,—

Unfelt by thee, my silent care

Shall never claim relief;

And still I'll wish thou may'st not share

My solitary grief."

In the next, the Duchess seems to have adopted the metre of Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogene, of M. G. Lewis.

The hero of this ballad was Lord Morley, then Lord Boringdon, who was a strong supporter of Mr. Pitt, and when a young man, spoke frequently in the

House of Lords. It is probably to these speeches that her Grace alludes, which no doubt found but little favour in the eyes of such an ardent Foxite as she was. Of the ladies that the youthful Lord Boringdon jilted, the author has no gossiping details to give; but of the one who jilted him the Peerage gives due information, and shows that these verses were written previously to the 24th of June, 1804, on which day he married the Lady Augusta Fane, second daughter of John, tenth Earl of Westmoreland; which marriage was dissolved in 1809, when her ladyship re-married the late Right Honourable Sir Arthur Paget. March 1840.

Lord Morley died on the 14th

BORINO THE BRAVE.

"A baron so bold, and of parentage fair,
Was riding beside the green sea;

His vizor was up, and his forehead was bare,
His face it was comely, and long was his hair,
And tall, and full portly was he.

He slowly rode on, 'twas for exercise' sake,

Nor trotted, nor canter'd did he ;

He mused on the speeches he'd made, and would make,
Of the vows to fair damsels he'd keep or would break,
And on many a quaint repartee.

Oh! from him let the barons of England beware
How their loves and their palfreys they guide;
Many women may love them, for whom they don't care,
Many horses may stumble, unless they're aware,

Or if loose in their stirrups they ride.