The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 10, No. 264, July 14, 1827

Hath sprung to meet glad day: and hark!
A mingling and delicious song
Breathes from the blithe-voiced plumy throng;
While, to the green-wood hasten we
Whose craft is, gentle archery!

Now swift we bound o'er dewy grass!
Rousing the red fox as we pass,
And startling linnet, merle, and thrush,
As recklessly the boughs we brush.
The hunter's horn sings thro' the brakes.
And its soft lay apt echo takes;
But soon her sweet enamoured tone
Shall tell what song is all our own!

On!—on!—glad brothers of the bow!
The dun deer's couching place ye know,
And gallant bucks this day shall rue
Our feather'd shafts,—so swift,—so true;
Yet, sorer than the sylvan train,
Our foes, upon the battle-plain,
Will mourn at the unerring hands
Of Albion's matchless archer bands!

Now hie we on, to silent shades,
To glist'ning streams, and sunlit glades,
Where all that woodland life can give,
Renders it bliss indeed, to live.
Come, ye who love the shadowy wood,
Whate'er your days, whate'er your mood.
And join us, freakish knights that be
Of grey-goose wing, and good yew-tree!

Say—are ye mirthful?—then we'll sing
Of wayward feasts and frolicking;—
Tell jests and gibes,—nor lack we store
Of knightly tales, and monkish lore;
High freaks of dames and cavaliers,
Of warlocks, spectres, elfs, and seers,
Till with glad heart, and blithesome brow,
Ye bless your brothers of the bow!

Is sadness courted?—ye shall lie
When summer's sultry noons are high,
By darkling forest's shadow'd stream
To muse;—or, sweeter still, to dream
Day-dreams of love; while round ye rise
Distant, delicious harmonies;
Until ye languishing declare
An archer's life, indeed is fair!

    M. L. B.

THE NOVELIST

NO. CV.

THE GHIBELLINES

A Fragment of a Tuscan Tale

BY MISS EMMA ROBERTS

"His name's Gonzago.—The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian."

Ten thousand lights burned throughout the Alberoni palace, and all the nobility of Florence flocked to the bridal of its wealthy lord. It was a fair sight to see the stately mirrors which spread their shining surfaces between pillars of polished marble reflecting the gay assemblage, that, radiant with jewels, promenaded the saloon, or wreathed the dance to the witching music of the most skilful minstrels in all Tuscany. Every lattice was open, and the eye, far as it could reach, wandered through illuminated gardens, tenanted by gay groups, where the flush of the roses, the silver stars of the jasmine, the crimson, purple, orange, and blue of the variegated parterre were revealed as if the brightest blaze of day flashed upon their silken leaves. Amid all this pomp of beauty and splendour the bride moved along, surpassing all that was fair and resplendent around her by the exceeding loveliness of a face and form to which every eye and every heart paid involuntary homage. At her side appeared the exulting bridegroom, to whom, however, more it should seem through diffidence than aversion, her eyes were never raised; for though Count Alberoni had advanced beyond the middle age of life, yet he still retained the majestic port and commanding lineaments for which he had been distinguished in early youth; his riches rendered him all potent in Florence, and none dared dispute with him the possession of its fairest flower. Intoxicated with the pleasures offered at the banquet and the ball, whatever of envy or of jealousy might have been hidden in the bosoms of the guests while contemplating the treasure which the triumphant Alberoni had snatched from contending suitors, it was concealed, and the most cheerful hilarity prevailed. Yet, amid the general expression of happiness, there were two persons who, attracting notice by the meanness of their attire, and the melancholy gloom upon their countenances, seemed to be out of place in so stately and so joyous an assembly. They were brother and sister, the descendants of Ghibellines who had died in exile, and distant relations of the Count, who though not choosing to regard them as his heirs, had, when the abolition of a severe law enabled the proscribed faction to return to Florence, accorded them shelter and protection. Meanly clad in vestments of coarse serge, there were yet no cavaliers who fluttered in silk and velvet who could compare in personal beauty with Francesco Gonzago; and the bride alone, of all the beauties who shone in gold and silver, appeared superior in feminine charms to the lovely Beatrice, notwithstanding that her cumbrous robe of grey stuff obscured the delicate proportions of her sylph-like form. Buoyant in spirit, and animated by the scene before her, occasionally a gleam of sunshine would irradiate her brow as she gazed upon the sparkling throng who formed the brilliant pageant which so much delighted her; but as she turned to express her feelings to her brother, his pale pensive features and the recollection of the intense anguish which wrung his heart, subdued her gaiety, the smile passed away from her lip, the rose deserted her cheek, and she stood by his side sad and sorrowful as some monumental statue. Many persons grieved at the depressed fortunes of the once powerful Gonzagos, but there were others who sneered at their present degradation, enjoying the cruel mockery with which Alberoni had forced the man who had cherished hopes of succeeding as heir-at-law to his immense estates, to witness the downfall of those flattering expectations. Few and slight were the salutations which passed between the dejected pair and the more illustrious guests; but as the bride made the circuit of the apartments, she paused when approaching her husband's neglected relatives, and raising eyes swimming with drops of sympathy, greeted them with unaffected tenderness. Francesco was unprepared for the gentle kindness of her address; his stern heart melted, his proud glance suddenly changed to one of gracious courtesy; he gazed upon her as upon some angelic being sent down from heaven to soothe and gladden his perturbed soul; and henceforward he saw nothing in the glare, and the crowd, and the splendour around him, save the sweet face and the delicate form of the Countess Alberoni; his charmed eyes followed her from place to place, and so entirely was he engrossed by one object, that he did not perceive that the attention of Beatrice was almost wholly occupied by a young and sprightly cavalier, who pursued her like a shadow, pouring tender tales in a not unwilling ear. Group by group the guests retired from the festive scene, and the brother and sister, scarcely able to define the new feelings which sprung up in the heart of each, quitted the magnificent palace to seek their forlorn abode. A pavilion, nearly in ruins, was the sole shelter which the proud lord of Alberoni afforded to the only surviving branches of his family, when returning to their native city they found their patrimonial estates confiscated, and themselves dependent upon the niggard bounty of a cold and selfish relative. Slowly recovering from a severe wound which he had received in the wars of Lombardy, and disgusted with the ingratitude of the prince he served, the ill-starred Francesco was at first rejoiced to obtain any refuge from the storms of a tempestuous world; and the unceasing efforts of his young and affectionate sister to reconcile him to a bitter lot were not wholly unavailing. Summer had spread her richest treasures upon the lap of Nature; and the fairy hands of Beatrice transformed the bare walls of the dilapidated edifice which they inhabited into bowers of luxuriant foliage; the most delicious fruit also, the spontaneous product of the garden, cooled at some crystal fount and heaped with flowers, tempted her brother's languid appetite; and, waking the soft notes of her lute, she soothed his desponding spirit with music's gentlest sound. Fondly trusting that Francesco might be won to prize the simple enjoyments of which fortune could not despoil him, and to find his dearest happiness in an approving conscience, the light hearted girl indulged in delusive hopes of future felicity. But these expectations were soon damped; as Francesco's health returned he became restless and melancholy; he saw no prospect of arriving at distinction by his talents, or by his sword; peace reigned throughout the Tuscan states, and the jealousy of the government of all who bore the mark of Ghibelline extraction, forbade the chance of successful exertion and honourable reward; his days were spent in moody abstraction, his nights in feverish dreams; his misfortunes, his accomplishments and his virtues failed to excite affection in the breast of his kinsman, who, jealous of the youth and personal attractions of the man apparently destined to be his heir, grew uneasy at the thought of benefitting a person he had learned to hate; and suddenly resolving to cut off at once the presumptuous expectations which the luckless exile might have cherished, exerted the influence procured by his wealth to form an alliance with the most peerless beauty which the city boasted. A new source of anguish added to the misery already sustained by the wretched Gonzago; his arm was paralyzed by the utter hopelessness of any attempt to emerge from the obscurity to which fate had condemned him; he brooded over the dismal futurity which opened before him; and, as a solace to these gloomy meditations, suffered his imagination to dwell upon the charms and graces of the lovely Giacinta, his kinsman's gentle bride. He saw her sometimes flitting through the myrtle groves which skirted the neighbouring palace; and when night favoured his concealment, he would approach the marble porticos to catch the sound of her voice as, accompanied by a lute, she wasted its melody upon the silent stars. Beatrice, in the mean time, experienced only in the pale brow and haggard form of her brother an alloy to her happiness. Alessandro, the young heir of the Orsini family, had abandoned the gay revels of Florence to share the solitude of the despised Ghibellines; and although there seemed to be little chance of ultimate triumph over the obstacles which opposed themselves to an alliance between the prosperous scion of a noble house and the unportioned orphan of a banished man, yet hope pre-ponderated over fear, and, blessed by her enchanting smiles, the lover indulged in delightful anticipations.

…

Again was the Alberoni palace illumined by innumerable tapers; again were the glittering saloons filled with all the noble population of Florence. A second nuptial feast, more splendid and joyous than the first, was celebrated; again Giacinta, lovelier than ever, shone as the bride, and by her side a cavalier appeared, whose summer of life was better adapted to match with her tender years than the mature age of her late husband had been.

The Count Alberoni Gonzago was dead; and Francesco succeeding to his wealth, had obtained the hand of his widow. Beatrice, also a bride, followed in the train of the Countess, but followed more like a mourner at some funeral solemnity than as the newly wedded consort of the husband of her choice. Francesco all smiles and triumph, as he stood with the fairest hand in Florence hanging on his arm, proudly greeting the guests who crowded to pay him homage, turned frequently, and cast looks of piercing examination and reproach upon his pale and trembling sister, and, as if fascinated by his glance, she would rally her, failing spirits and smile languidly upon the bridegroom, who bent over her enamoured; and then, as if beguiled from some painful contemplation by the sweet accents of the man she loved, she became calm, and her quivering features resumed their wonted placidity. But these moments of tranquillity were of short duration; she started at every shadow; the flash of one of the jewels which broidered her satin robe would cause a fit of trembling; and at length, when seated at the banquet opposite her brother and his bride, a richly clad domestic offered wine in a golden goblet; for a moment she held it to her lips, and then dashed it away, exclaiming—"It is poison! Hide me,—save me. I see it every where; in those green leaves from whence it was distilled.—Oh! Francesco, Francesco, let us be poor and happy!" The guests shrunk aghast from the speaker, who, falling from her seat, expired in convulsions.

The power conferred by Gonzago's immense riches silenced the whispered murmurs of the assembly. No man rose to higher eminence in the state than the idolized husband of the beautiful Giacinta; but a dark cloud hung upon his house, his children were all cut off in their infancy, and, after a few brief years of outward felicity, struck from his horse by the fragment of a building which fell upon him as he rode in pomp through the city, he received a mortal wound, surviving the accident only long enough to unburthen his soul to his confessor.

His dying words were addressed to Alessandro, from whom since the hour of his nuptials he had been estranged; pressing his hand, he exclaimed—"She was innocent! she heard not of the murder until it had been accomplished."—London Weekly Review.

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS

RAFTS AND RHINE SCENERY

Between Andernach and Bonn I saw two or three of those enormous rafts which are formed of the accumulated produce of the Swiss and German forests. One was anchored in the middle of the river, and looked like a floating island. These Krakens of the Rhine are composed of oak and fir floated in smaller rafts down the tributary streams, and, their size constantly increasing till they arrive hereabouts, they make platforms of from four hundred to seven hundred feet long, and one hundred and forty feet in breadth. When in motion, a dozen boats and more precede them, carrying anchors and cables to guide and arrest their course. The navigation of a raft down the Rhine to Dort, in Holland, which is the place of their destination,[4 - About twelve of these rafts annually arrive at Dort, in July or August; when the German timber merchants, having converted their floats into good Dutch ducats, return to their own country. When the water is low, those machines are sometimes months upon the journey.—Campbell's Guide.] is a work of great difficulty. The skill of the German and Dutch pilots who navigate them, in spite of the abrupt turnings, the eddies, the currents, rocks and shoals that oppose their progress, must indeed be of a very peculiar kind, and can be possessed but by few. It requires besides a vast deal of manual labour. The whole complement of rowers and workmen, together with their wives and children, on board one of the first-rates, amounts to the astonishing number of nine hundred or a thousand; a little village, containing from forty to sixty wooden houses, is erected upon each, which also is furnished with stalls for cattle, a magazine for provisions, &c. The dwelling appropriated to the use of the master of the raft and the principal super-cargoes was conspicuous for its size and commodiousness. It is curious to observe these rafts, on their passage, with their companies of rowers stationed at each end, making the shores ring again to the sound of their immense oars.

The succession of grand natural pictures, which I had been gazing upon since my departure from Mentz and the district of the Rheingau, are undoubtedly similar, but not the same; there is alternately the long noble reach, the sudden bend, the lake-like expanse, the shores on both sides lined with towns whose antique fortifications rise in distant view, and villages whose tapering spires of blue slate peer above the embosoming foliage; the mountains clothed with vines and forests, their sides bristled and their summits crowned with the relics of feudal residences,[5 - There are the ruins of fourteen castles on the left bank, and of fifteen on the right bank of the Rhine, from Mentz to Bonn, a distance of thirty-six leagues.] or of cloistered fanes: but the varieties in the shape and character of all these are inexhaustible; it is this circumstance that enhances the pleasure of contemplating, scenery, in which there is, as Lord Byron says,

"A blending of all beauties, streams and dells,
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine,
And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells,
From gray but leafy walls where ruin greenly dwells."

The oppositions of light and shade; the rich culture of the hills contrasted with the rugged rocks that often rise from out of the midst of fertility; the bright verdure of the islands which the Rhine is continually forming; the purple hues and misty azure of the distant mountains—these and a thousand other indescribable charms constitute sources of visual delight which can be imparted only by a view of the objects themselves. And is excitement awakened in contemplating the borders of this graceful and magnificent river? Yes. When we revert to the awful convulsions of the physical world, and the important revolutions of human society, of which the regions it flows through have been successively the theatre—when we meditate on the vast changes, the fearful struggles, the tragic incidents and mournful catastrophes, which they have witnessed from the earliest ages to the very times in which we have ourselves lived and marked the issue of events—"the battles, sieges, fortunes" that have passed before its green tumultuous current, or within ken of its mountain watch-towers—the shouts of nations that have resounded, and the fates of empires that have been decided, on its shores—when we think of the slaughtered myriads whose bones have bleached on the neighbouring plains, filled up the trenches of its rock-built strong-holds, or found their place of sepulture beneath its wave—when, at each survey we take of the wide and diversified scene, the forms of centuries seem to be embodied with the objects around us, and the record of the past becomes vividly associated with the impression of present realities—it is then that we are irresistibly led to compare the greatness of nature with the littleness of man; it is then that we are forcibly struck with the power and goodness of the Author of both; and that the deepest humility unites itself in a grateful mind, with the highest admiration, at the sight of "these His lowest works."

But do you pretend, it may be asked, in the course of a three days' journey, however lengthened by celerity of conveyance, or favoured by advantages of season or weather—do you pretend to have experienced that very eminent degree of gratification which the country is capable of communicating? Certainly not. I speak of these scenes but as of things, which before my own hasty and unsatisfied glances came like shadows—so departed. Instead of two or three days, a whole month should be spent between Mentz, Coblentz, and Bonn, in order fully to know and thoroughly to enjoy the beauties and grandeurs with which that space abounds.—Stevenson's Tour in France, &c.

THE BARBER

Nick Razorblade a barber was,
A strapping lad was he;
And he could shave with such a grace,
It was a joy to see!