of the departed, that their truth and tenderness could never die. Hand in hand, as well as arm in arm, we went to our home of the Almadora; and never from that hour to the present, though many years have now glided away, many more, indeed, than we are well able to realize, never have we formed one wish,-one Mid-summer Night's Wish, to visit the island of St. Brandan. With faith, hope, and love, we have never felt a want; and, possessed of these, what need have we to wish for more ?

L'AMORE.

[For this translation of GENEVIEVE, the most admired of Coleridge's minor poems, I am indebted to the skill and kindness of my friend, Mr. Pietro D' Alessandro, a literary gentleman from Palermo. He speaks of his " сору of the beautiful Genevieve in her simple and unpretending Italian costume," and adds: "Dearly as I love my own plain and modest Ginevra, I feel still that I can love her faithfully, only so long as her elder sister remains out of sight; so that if you have decided to put the temptation in my way, the responsibility will rest entirely on you; for I shall be the first to proclaim that Genevieve, though a few years older, is far more beautiful than Ginevra."

It is true, that all poetry worthy of the name, as my friend once said to me of Dante, has a spirit too ethereal for perfect translation; still, warmly as we admire the elder sister, the land of Juliet will love the sweetness, feeling, and simplicity of the younger with a heart not less impassioned.]

L'AMORE.

col

I pensieri, i desiri, ogni contento
Quanto la mortal forma agita e affina-
Son ministri d'Amor, sono alimento
Di sua fiamma divina.

Spesso ne' vaghi sogni miei soglio io
Riviver l'ora a me stanto amica,

Quand' io giacea del monte in sul pendio
Presso la torre antica.

Fioca la luna per le quete scene
Co' notturni splendor mesceasi grata ;
Ivi la mia speranza era, il mio bene,
La mia Ginevra amata!

Sull' uomo armato s' appoggiava lente,
Sullo scolpito Cavaliero in armi ;

Stava Ella, e al lume del chiaror languente
Intesa era a' miei carmi.

Il proprio duol raro affannò di tanto
La mia Ginevra, l'amor mio, il mio bene !
E m' ama più, quando le storie io canto
Fonti al suo cor di pene.

Trassi un accordo flebile e dolente,
E un' antica cantai storia pietosa -
Una vecchia canzon, ma confacente
Quella ruina annosa.

LOVE.

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay,
Beside the ruin'd tower.

The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve!

She leant against the armed man,
The statue of the armed knight;
She stood and listen'd to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.

!

Few sorrows hath she of her own,-
My hope my joy! my Genevieve !
She loves me best, whene'er I sing

The songs that make her grieve.

I play'd a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story,-
An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.

Di rossore suffusa Ella ascoltava,
Con occhi bassi e alteramente umile;
Chè sapea, come intento io mi beava
Nel volto suo gentile.

Dissi del Cavalier che un infocato
Brando portava sullo scudo in guerra;
Com' ei, per dieci lunghi anni, avea amato
La Dama della Terra.

Come d'amore egli languia, narrai-
Ma gl' infiammati, e i mesti accenti ond' io
Del Cavalier tutto l' amor cantai,
Le interpretaro il mio.

Di rossore suffusa Ella ascoltava,
Con occhi bassi, e alteramente umile;
E soffria, se rapito, io mi beava
Nel volto suo gentile !

Ma quando venni il rio scorno narrando Onde il bel Cavaliero ebbe ad ir folle, Com' ei, di e notte i boschi attraversando, Mai riposar poi volle ;

Come talfiata da selvaggia grotta,
E tal' altra da selva oscura antica,
Od improvviso spuntando talotta
Dalla verde ombra aprica,

A lui veniva, e in viso l' affiggea
Un Angiolo di luce risplendente ;-
E il Cavalier tapino, ahi! conoscea
Ch' era una Furia ardente!

E come, ignaro omai di quel ch' ei fesse, Fra i masnadier lanciossi a cruda guerra, E d'aspra morte, e dal disnor protesse La Dama della Terra.