When I review all this, and see

The doom that now hath fall'n on thee;
Thy nobles, tow'ring once so proud,
Themselves beneath the yoke now bow'd,
A yoke, by no one grace redeem'd,
Such as, of old, around thee beam'd,
But mean and base as e'er yet gall'd,
Earth's tyrants, when, themselves, enthrall'd, -
I feel the moral vengeance sweet,
And, smiling o'er the wreck, repeat,
"Thus perish ev'ry King and State,
"That tread the steps which VENICE trod,
"Strong but in ill, and only great,

"By outrage against man and God!"

1 "A l'exception des trente citadins admis au grand consell pendant la guerre di Chiozzi, il n'est pas arrivé une seule fois que les talens ou les services aient paru à cette noblesse orgueilleuse des titres suffisans pour s'asseoir avec elle." DARU.

2 Among those admitted to the honour of being inscribed in the Libro d'oro were some families of Brescia, Treviso, and other places, whose only claim to that distinction was the zeal with which they prostrated themselves and their country at the feet of the republic.

3 By the infamous statutes of the State Inquisition, not only was assassination recognised as a regular mode of punishment, but this secret power over life was delegated to their minions at a distance, with nearly as much facility as a licence is given under the game laws of England. The only restriction seems to have been the necessity of applying for a new certificate, after every individual exercise of the power.

4 "Les prisons des plombs; c'est-à-dire, ces fournaises ardentes qu'on avait distribuées en petites cellules sous les terrasses qui couvrent le palais."

5 Psaphon, in order to attract the attention of the world, taught multitudes of birds to speak his name, and then let them fly away in various directions; whenee the proverb," Psaphonis aves." 6 Bruce.

M. Daru has given an abstract of these Statutes, from a manuscript in the Bibliothèque du Roi, and it is hardly credible that such a system of treachery and cruelty should ever have been established by any government, or submitted to, for an instant, by any people. Among various precautions against the intrigues of their own Nobles, we find the following:-" Pour persuader aux étrangers qu'il était difficile et dangereux d'entretenir quelque

EXTRACT VII.

Venice.

Lord Byron's Memoirs, written by himself. - Reflections, when att to read them.

LET me, a moment, -ere with fear and hope Of gloomy, glorious things, these leaves I ope As one, in fairy tale, to whom the key

Of some enchanter's secret halls is giv'n, Doubts, while he enters, slowly, tremblingly,

If he shall meet with shapes from hell or heav'nLet me, a moment, think what thousands live O'er the wide earth this instant, who would give, Gladly, whole sleepless nights to bend the brow Over these precious leaves, as I do now.

How all who know and where is he unknown?
To what far region have his songs not flown.
Like PSAPHON's birds, speaking their master's

name,

In ev'ry language, syllabled by Fame?—
How all, who've felt the various spells combin'd
Within the circle of that master-mind, -
Like spells, deriv'd from many a star, and met
Together in some wond'rous amulet,
Would burn to know when first the Light awoke
In his young soul, and if the gleams that broke
From that Aurora of his genius, rais'd
Most pain or bliss in those on whom they blaz'd;
Would love to trace the' unfolding of that pow`r,
Which hath grown ampler, grander, ev'ry hour;
And feel, in watching o'er his first advance,

As did the Egyptian traveller, when he stood By the young Nile, and fathom'd with his lance The fast small fountains of that mighty flood.

intrigue secrète avec les nobles Vénitiens, on imagina de fum avertir mystérieusement le Nonce du Pape (afin que les as ministres en fussent informés) que l'Inquisition avait auss patriciens à poignarder quiconque essaierait de tenter leur & La Mais craignant que les ambassadeurs ne prêtassent foi diffe

à une délibération, qui en effet n'existait pas, l'Inquisitim vet prouver qu'elle en était capable. Elle ordonna des recherches pa 5” découvrir s'il n'y avait pas dans Venise quelque exilé au-ČENSTEN commun, qui eût rompu son ban; ensuite un des patricias que étaient aux gages du tribunal, recut la mission d'assassiner e malheureux, et l'ordre de s'en vanter, en disant qui'il s'"talt p à cet acte, parce que ce banni était l'agent d'un ministre -tra et avait cherché à le corrompre."-" Remarquons," adda M. Diam "que ceci n'est pas une simple anecdote; c'est une mission perjet e délibérée, écrite d'avance; une règle de conduite tracée par hommes graves à leurs successeurs, et consignée dans des statuts." The cases, in which assassination is ordered by these Statules, ATT as follow:

"Un ouvrier de l'arsenal, un chef de ce qu'on appelle par marins le menstrance, passait-il au service d'une puissane te gère: il fallait le faire assassiner, surtout si c'était un homme rig La brave et habile dans sa profession." (Art. 3. des Statuts,) "Avait-il commis quelque action qu'on ne jureait pas à page c de punir juridiquement, on devait le faire empoisonner,” (ārt, ta "Un artisan passait-il à l'étranger en y exportant quelquer de l'industrie nationale: c'était encore un crime capital e inconnue ordonnait de punir par un assassinat."

The facility with which they got rid of their Duke of Bedflerin Lord Fitzwilliams, &c. was admirable: it was thus:

"Le patricien qui se permettait le moindre propos contre to gouvernement, était admonété deux fois, et à la troisiense comme incorrigible." (Art. 39.)

They, too, who, mid the scornful thoughts that dwell

In his rich fancy, tinging all its streams, As if the Star of Bitterness, which fell

On earth of old,' had touch'd them with its beams,

Can track a spirit, which, though driven to hate,
From Nature's hands came kind, affectionate;
And which, ev'n now, struck as it is with blight,
Comes out, at times, in love's own native light;-
How gladly all, who've watch'd these strugglingrays
Of a bright, ruin'd spirit through his lays,
Would here inquire, as from his own frank lips,
What desolating grief, what wrongs had driven
That noble nature into cold eclipse;

Like some fair orb that, once a sun in heaven,
And born, not only to surprise, but cheer
With warmth and lustre all within its sphere,
Is now so quench'd, that of its grandeur lasts
Nought, but the wide, cold shadow which it casts!

The griefs-the frailties, but too frankly told -
The loves, the feuds thy pages may unfold,
If Truth with half so prompt a hand unlocks
His virtues as his failings, we shall find
The record there of friendships, held like rocks,
And enmities, like sun-touch'd snow, resign'd;
Of fealty, cherish'd without change or chill,
In those who serv'd him, young, and serve him still;
Of gen'rous aid, giv'n with that noiseless art
Which wakes not pride, to many a wounded heart;
Of acts but, no-not from himself must aught
Of the bright features of his life be sought.
While they, who court the world, like MILTON'S
cloud,2

EXTRACT VIII.

Venice.

Female Beauty at Venice. — No longer what it was in the Time of Titian. His Mistress. Various Forms in which he has painted her. Venus.-Divine and profane Love.-La Fragilità d'Amore. - Paul Veronese. His Women - Marriage of Cana. - Character of Italian Beauty.—Raphael Fornarinu. — Modesty.

THY brave, thy learn'd, have pass'd away:
Thy beautiful!-ah, where are they?
The forms, the faces, that once shone,

Models of grace, in Titian's eye,
Where are they now? while flowers live on
In ruin'd places, why, oh why

Must Beauty thus with Glory die?
That maid, whose lips would still have mov'd,
Could art have breath'd a spirit through them;
Whose varying charms her artist lov'd

More fondly ev'ry time he drew them,
(So oft beneath his touch they pass'd,
Each semblance fairer than the last);
Wearing each shape that Fancy's range

Offers to Love-yet still the one
Fair idol, seen through every change,
Like facets of some orient stone,-
In each the same bright image shown.
Sometimes a Venus, unarray'd

But in her beauty-sometimes deck'd
In costly raiment, as a maid

That kings might for a throne select.1
Now high and proud, like one who thought
The world should at her feet be brought;
Now, with a look reproachful, sad — 3
Unwonted look from brow so glad;-
And telling of a pain too deep
For tongue to speak or eyes to weep.
Sometimes, through allegory's veil,

;

In double semblance seen to shine, Telling a strange and mystic tale

Of Love Profane and Love Divine — Akin in features, but in heart As far as earth and heav'n apart. Or else (by quaint device to prove The frailty of all worldly love) Holding a globe of glass, as thin

As air-blown bubbles, in her hand, With a young Love confin'd therein, Whose wings seem waiting to expand And telling, by her anxious eyes,

That, if that frail orb breaks, he flies!"

shadowy eyes, as if she had been unjustly accused of something wrong, is exquisite.

6 The fine picture in the Palazzo Borghese, called (it is not easy to say why) Sacred and Profane Love," in which the two figures, sitting on the edge of the fountain, are evidently portraits of the

same person.

7 This fanciful allegory is the subject of a picture by Titian in the possession of the Marquis Cambian at Turin, whose collection, though small, contains some beautiful specimens of all the great masters.

Thou, too, with touch magnificent,
PAUL of VERONA!-where are they,
The oriental forms,' that lent

Thy canvass such a bright array?
Noble and gorgeous dames, whose dress
Seems part of their own loveliness;
Like the sun's drapery, which, at eve,
The floating clouds around him weave
Of light they from himself receive!
Where is there now the living face

Like those that, in thy nuptial throng,2 By their superb, voluptuous grace, Make us forget the time, the place,

The holy guests they smile among,Till, in that feast of heaven-sent wine, We see no miracles but thine.

If e'er, except in Painting's dream,

There bloom'd such beauty here, 'tis gone,Gone, like the face that in the stream

Of Ocean for an instant shone,
When Venus at that mirror gave
A last look, ere she left the wave.

And though, among the crowded ways,
We oft are startled by the blaze
Of eyes that pass, with fitful light,
Like fire-flies on the wing at night,3
"Tis not that nobler beauty, giv'n
To show how angels look in heav'n.
Ev'n in its shape most pure and fair,

'Tis Beauty, with but half her zone,All that can warm the Sense is there,

But the Soul's deeper charm is flown:'Tis RAPHAEL'S Fornarina,-warm,

Luxuriant, arch, but unrefin'd;

A flower, round which the noontide swarm
Of young Desires may buzz and wind,
But where true Love no treasure meets,
Worth hoarding in his hive of sweets.
Ah, no,-for this, and for the hue

Upon the rounded cheek, which tells
How fresh, within the heart, this dew
Of Love's unrifled sweetness dwells,
We must go back to our own Isles,

Where Modesty, which here but gives
A rare and transient grace to smiles,

In the heart's holy centre lives;
And thence, as from her throne diffuses
O'er thoughts and looks so bland a reign,
That not a thought or feeling loses

Its freshness in that gentle chain.

EXTRACT IX.

Venice.

The English to be met with every where. — Alps and Threatwede Street. The Simplon and the Stocks.- Rage for trangBlue Stockings among the Wahabees. - Parasols and Pyramids.Mrs. Hopkins and the Wall of China.

AND is there then no earthly place,

Where we can rest, in dream Elysian, Without some curst, round English face, Popping up near, to break the vision? 'Mid northern lakes, 'mid southern vines, Unholy cits we're doom'd to meet; Nor highest Alps nor Apennines

Are sacred from Threadneedle Street!

If up the Simplon's path we wind, Fancying we leave this world behind, Such pleasant sounds salute one's ear As-"Baddish news from 'Change, my dear"The Funds-(phew, curse this ugly hill)"Are low'ring fast-(what, higher still?)"And-(zooks, we're mounting up to hea ven!)

"Will soon be down to sixty-seven."

Go where we may-rest where we will,
Eternal London haunts us still.

The trash of Almack's or Fleet Ditch-
And scarce a pin's head difference which—
Mixes, though ev'n to Greece we run,
With every rill from Helicon!
And, if this rage for travelling lasts,
If Cockneys, of all sects and castes,
Old maidens, aldermen, and squires,
Will leave their puddings and coal fires,
To gape at things in foreign lands,
No soul among them understands;
If Blues desert their coteries,
To show off 'mong the Wahabees;
If neither sex nor age controls,
Nor fear of Mamelukes forbids
Young ladies, with pink parasols,

To glide among the Pyramids -
Why, then, farewell all hope to find
A spot that's free from London-kind!
Who knows, if to the West we roam,
But we may find some Blue "at home"
Among the Blacks of Carolina-
Or, flying to the Eastward, see
Some Mrs. HOPKINS, taking tea
And toast upon the Wall of China!

1 As Paul Veronese gave but little into the beau idéal, his women may be regarded as pretty close imitations of the living models which Venice afforded in his time.

2 The Marriage of Cana.

"Certain it is (as Arthur Young truly and feelingly says) ons now and then meets with terrible eyes in Italy."

4 It was pink spencers, I believe, that the imagination of the French traveller conjured up.

Worth more than present worlds to me! No, nothing cheers this widow'd heart My only joy, from thee apart, From thee thyself, is sitting hours

And days, before thy pictur'd form-
That dream of thee, which Raphael's pow'rs
Have made with all but life-breath warm!
And as I smile to it, and say

The words I speak to thee in play,
I fancy from their silent frame,
Those eyes and lips give back the same;
And still I gaze, and still they keep
Smiling thus on me-till I weep!
Our little boy, too, knows it well,
For there I lead him every day,
And teach his lisping lips to tell

The name of one that's far away.
Forgive me, love, but thus alone

My time is cheer'd, while thou art gone.

heart,

Which burst, when the senses have first caught

the flame;

Such fits of the blood as those climates impart, Where Love is a sun-stroke, that maddens the frame.

But that Passion, which springs in the depth of the soul;

Whose beginnings are virginly pure as the source Of some small mountain rivulet, destin'd to roll As a torrent, ere long, losing peace in its course—

A course, to which Modesty's struggle but lends A more headlong descent, without chance of recall;

But which Modesty ev'n to the last edge attends, And, then, throws a halo of tears round its fall!

This exquisite Passion-ay, exquisite, even

Mid the ruin its madness too often hath made, As it keeps, even then, a bright trace of the heaven, That heaven of Virtue from which it has stray'd—

This entireness of love, which can only be found, Where Woman, like something that's holy, watch'd over,

And fenc'd, from her childhood, with purity round, Comes, body and soul, fresh as Spring, to a lover!

Where not an eye answers, where not a hand presses,

Till spirit with spirit in sympathy move; And the Senses, asleep in their sacred recesses, Can only be reach'd through the temple of Love!

This perfection of Passion-how can it be found, Where the mystery nature hath hung round the tie

By which souls are together attracted and bound, Is laid open, for ever, to heart, ear, and eye;

Where nought of that innocent doubt can exist, That ignorance, even than knowledge more bright,

Which circles the young, like the morn's sunny mist,

And curtains them round in their own native light;

Where Experience leaves nothing for Love to reveal, Or for Fancy, in visions, to gleam o'er the thought;

1 Bergamothe birth-place, it is said, of Harlequin. The Lago di Garda.

conceal From the maiden's young heart, are the only ones taught,

No, no, 'tis not here, howsoever we sigh, Whether purely to Hymen's one planet we pray, Or adore, like Sabæans, each light of Love's sky, Here is not the region, to fix or to stray.

For faithless in wedlock, in gallantry gross,

Without honour to guard, or reserve to restrain, What have they, a husband can mourn as a loss? What have they, a lover can prize as a gain?

EXTRACT XII.

Florence.

Music in Italy. - Disappointed by it. — Recollections of other Times and Friends. - Dalton.- Sir John Stevenson. - His Daughter. — Musical Evenings together.

IF it be true that Music reigns,

Supreme, in ITALY's soft shades, 'Tis like that Harmony, so famous, Among the spheres, which, He of SAMOS Declar'd, had such transcendent merit, That not a soul on earth could hear it; For, far as I have come from Lakes, Whose sleep the Tramontana breaks, Through MILAN, and that land, which gave The Hero of the rainbow vest —1 By MINCIO's banks, and by that wave, Which made Verona's bard so blestPlaces, that (like the Attic shore,

Which rung back music, when the sea Struck on its marge) should be, all o'er, Thrilling alive with melody — I've heard no music not a note Of such sweet native airs as float, In my own land, among the throng, And speak our nation's soul for song.

Nay, ev'n in higher walks, where Art
Performs, as 'twere, the gardener's part,
And richer, if not sweeter, makes
The flow'rs she from the wild-hedge takes-
Ev'n there, no voice hath charm'd my ear,
No taste hath won my perfect praise,
Like thine, dear friend- long, truly dear-
Thine, and thy lov'd OLIVIA's lays.
She, always beautiful, and growing

Still more so ev'ry note she sings —

3 Edward Tuite Dalton, the first husband of Sir John Steven daughter, the late Marchioness of Headfort.