Sweet friend! dear little one! may slumber lend thee I watch o'er thee, to nourish and defend thee, And count these vigils sweet, for thee, my boy. Thy mother's face thou never now mistakest, What! do thy little fingers leave the breast, The fountain which thy small lip press'd at pleasure? Couldst thou exhaust it, pledge of passion blest! Even then thou couldst not know my fond love's measure. My gentle son! sweet friend, whom I adore! I blame the quick return of every night. His little arms stretch forth-sleep o'er him steals- Awake, my child!-I tremble with affright!- How will he revel in thy first caress, Disputing with thee for my gentle kiss! But think not to engross his tenderness, Clotilda too shall have her share of bliss. Bel amy, cher petiot, que ta pupille tendre Gouste ung sommeil qui plus n'est faict pour moy! Je veille pour te veoir, te nourrir, te defendre, Ainx qu'il m'est doulx ne veiller que pour toy! &c. &c. How will he joy to see his image there, Which Love himself might view with jealousy. For me-I am not jealous of his love, And gladly I divide it, sweet, with thee; I speak to thee-thou understand'st me not Thou couldst not understand, though sleep were fled- His infant thought, are not unravelled. We have been happy infants, as thou art; There is a tenderness and a sportive beauty in these lines of Madame de Surville, which we have seldom seen equalled; and, undoubtedly, both the versification and the sentiments seem much superior to the age in which she lived. Whatever doubts, however, there may be of their authenticity, we think their merits and excellence are unquestionable. These lines are certainly far superior to the French taste of the present day, a circumstance which may be used in favour of their genuineness. Some of the turns of thought, though occasionally verging on concetti, are delicate and sweet in the extreme-where the mother imagines the slumbers of her infant to be those of death, and where she compares his infantine thoughts to the confusion of entangled threads. The picture too of conjugal attachment is ardent, tender, and pure. It is in poetry like this that the genius of woman more particularly excels, and these verses are a beautiful instance of it. The following stanzas also are full of passionate affection : BALLADE A MON ESPOULX. Lors fut admiz des propres mains du Roy en l'Ordre et Corps da la Chevalerie. Quoy! mon Espoulx, à payne hors de l'enfance, Cil qui soubmist et Carthage et Numance, Dieulx! que vouldroy, quand t'armeraz de lance Et qu'en tous lieulx, soict le ciel blanc ou noir, ENVOY. De t'accoler me meurs d'impatience; We confess we have made several attempts to transmute these tender and simple stanzas into English verse, foxwe could not forbear quoting them, as they may lead our readers to judge for themselves of the merits of this fascinating little volume. We add the following translation, which contains the sentiments of these lines, though it is impossible to catch their naïvetè. STANZAS TO MY HUSBAND. On his admission, by the King's own hand, into the Order and Company of Knighthood. What! in the very morning of his days, My husband's hand has grasp'd the palm of war, And his young brow is circled with the rays That seldom beam, but from life's evening star? Why should it not be so? This lofty prize High deeds of arms, not subtle counsels, claim: I see a thousand triumphs round thee rise, He, whose young arm struck Carthage to the ground, For noble continence alike renown'd, In years like thine, were the world's hope and flower, Like them, with firm will hold the right alone; O heaven! When thou art arm'd with lance and shield, And fondly guard thy knightly arms from stain! That through all time and place, through good and ill, ENVOY. Dying, once more to meet thy dear caress, I sit and languish in my loneliness Return, sweet friend, secure from doubt or blame; R. ON THE ORIGIN OF THE DEBASEMENT OF NATIONAL SPIRIT IN ITALY. WHEN We revert to the circumstances under which Italy has been moulded into its present misshapen form, we shall perhaps cease to wonder at the deformity which the national character of the Neapolitan has recently exhibited: and we shall be led to conclude, that the attitude he lately assumed, originated rather in the desperate intrigues of a faction, than in that staid wisdom of genuine patriotism, which moves not without a deep calculation of the aids, resources, and alliances, whence its efforts shall derive the assurance of success in the end, and of support and renovation under temporary miscarriages. This impression will strike with the more force when we contemplate the divisions, which have so long enslaved, and denationalized the posterity of the illustrious Roman. In tracing our way through the continuous chain of vicissitudes which marks Italian story, we shall not fail to discover the sinister causes that have contributed to debase and extirpate all national consanguinity between the distracted states of Italy. In our search for these causes, we must commence our inquiries with a remote period of the Roman annals. The maxim of transforming men in one day from enemies into fellow citizens, has been attributed to the first of the kings of Rome, whose necessities early impressed upon her its strength ening efficacy, and prompted her to provide for the safety of her institutions by gradually interesting the whole extent of Italy in their preservation. The result of this policy was, that, in the course of time, every Italian became entitled to participate in the administration of her affairs; indeed, it put so complete an end to the various distinctions of Quirites, Latins, allies, provincials, colonies, and municipal towns, that, from the Varo to the Arsa, there was not found a single people which did not lay claim to the Roman name. "All now are Romans," says Strabo, in speaking of the Italians: and Pliny calls Italy "rerum domina," in the same way as Rome first termed herself "the only Rome." Montesquieu remarks, that this very system was one of the causes which hastened the decay of Roman power: yet I must differ, and continue to differ, from him on this point, until I am shown what other expedient would have counteracted the influence of the great, (whose gold drew over the people to their side, and would have rendered them a ready footstool to dominion and power,) than the course which enabled their adversaries to increase the numbers of the voters in each tribe, and to counterbalance the corruption and partiality prevalent among the venal citizens of Rome, by extending the numerical quantity of the votes:—this very effect was insisted upon by Cicero himself, in the presence of Sylla, the dictator. Had such a policy as this been pursued by the various states of Italy in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, one common interest would have united her whole extent, and rescued her from the ignominy of a foreign yoke! In the time of the Roman ascendency, however remote a corner of Italy might be the birth-place of a Roman citizen, it had no effect in producing any inequality of political rights;these he shared in common with the native of Rome herself; nor much less, could he be deemed (as prejudice at this moment dictates) a foreigner in his own country. The most exalted of all dignities, the consulship itself, was open to competition, even to the tenant of the remotest confine of Italy. In their origin, therefore, her people were brethren;-for I would date the origin of nations from that moment, when interest and honour unite men as accordant members of a single body politic, and varied links of one common system. It was monarchy which loosened these links: the emperors having parcelled out the privilege of citizenship, with unsparing hand, to a number of provinces beyond the frontiers of Italy, her cities restricted themselves to their respective territories, and preserving within themselves a form of magistracy, modelled after that of Rome, they assumed the appellation of republics: here we find the title of "Respub lica," characterizing the inscriptions of almost every city or |