The Lamia.
355
Fast’ning fell kisses, till the heart’s blood gush’d
Over the fading mouth. The mother’s cries
Pierc’d high Olympus, pealing through its domes
Unto the throne of Zeus! Horror-struck,
The diadem’d of Heaven rose, and grasp’d
In his terrible hand the lightnings—hurl’d them once,
And down into eternal Hades struck
A mangled spectral form, the blasted wretch!
But,
Zeus commands not Fate.She now is past
His empire, and each coming night ascends
To kill the mother’s hope, and fill her soul
With pangs she once endur’d. Bloody and pale,
Silently gliding, anxiously she seeks
The still and slumbering child.
Chilonis.
Oh, hush—no more!
See, I have fill’d the vases—night descends—
Soon will the spectres of dim Hades rise
To revel on the earth. ’Tis late—the Bear
Glitters above us; and beneath our feet,
In beams of silver light, the shadows glide
Of our long wandering forms. Now then—home—home.
Over the fading mouth. The mother’s cries
Pierc’d high Olympus, pealing through its domes
Unto the throne of Zeus! Horror-struck,
The diadem’d of Heaven rose, and grasp’d
In his terrible hand the lightnings—hurl’d them once,
And down into eternal Hades struck
A mangled spectral form, the blasted wretch!
But,
Zeus commands not Fate.She now is past
His empire, and each coming night ascends
To kill the mother’s hope, and fill her soul
With pangs she once endur’d. Bloody and pale,
Silently gliding, anxiously she seeks
The still and slumbering child.
Chilonis.
Oh, hush—no more!
See, I have fill’d the vases—night descends—
Soon will the spectres of dim Hades rise
To revel on the earth. ’Tis late—the Bear
Glitters above us; and beneath our feet,
In beams of silver light, the shadows glide
Of our long wandering forms. Now then—home—home.
CRITICISMS ON THE PRINCIPAL ITALIAN WRITERS.
No. II. PETRARCH.
Et vos, o lauri, carpam, et te, proxima myrte,
Sic positæ quoniam suaves miscetis odores.Virgil.
It would not be easy to name a writer whose celebrity, when both its extent and its duration are taken into the account, can be considered as equal to that of Petrarch. Four centuries and a half have elapsed since his death. Yet still the inhabitants of every nation throughout the western world are as familiar with his character and his adventures as with the most illustrious names, and the most recent anecdotes, of their own literary history. This is indeed a rare distinction. His detractors must acknowledge that it could not have been
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