is in praise of his lady's smile. It is impossible for any thing to be more airy and yet heartfelt—he speaks of how the earth is said to laugh, when, at the morning hour, a rivulet or a breeze wanders murmuring amid the grass, or a meadow adorns itself with flowers;—how the sea laughs, when a light zephyr dips its airy feet in the clear waters, so that the waves scarcely play upon the sands;—and how the heavens smile when morning comes forth, amidst roseate and white flowers, adorned in a golden veil, and moving along on sapphire wheels. "When the earth is happy," he says, "she laughs; and the heavens laugh when they are gay: but neither can smile so sweetly and gracefully as you." The flowing measure, the admirable selection and position of the words render this and other similar poems models of lyrical composition. A fairy-like colouring, and a thrilling sweetness, like the scent of flowers, invest them, and render them peculiar in their aerial vivacity and spirited flow.
These lighter and more animated productions have not been translated; but, as a specimen of his more serious style, we select one of the epitaphs or elegiac poems among those which Mr. Wordsworth has translated, with his usual accuracy and force of diction:—
There never breathed a man who, when his life
Was closing, might hot of that life relate
Toils long and hard. The warrior will report
Of wounds, and bright swords flashing in the field,
And blast of trumpets. He, who hath been doom'd
To bow his forehead in the court of kings,
Will tell of fraud and never-ceasing hate,
Envy, and heart-inquietude, derived
From intricate cabals of treacherous friends.
I, who on shipboard lived from earliest youth,
Could represent the countenance horrible
Of the vexed waters, and the indignant rage
Of Auster and Boötes. Forty years
Over the well-steer'd galleys did I rule:
From huge Pelorus to the Atlantic pillars,
Rises no mountain to mine eyes unknown;
And the broad gulphs I traversed oft and oft;
Of every cloud which in the heavens might stir
I knew the force; and hence the rough sea's pride
Avail'd not to my vessel's overthrow.
What noble pomp, and frequent, have not I
On regal decks beheld! Yet in the end
I learn that one poor moment can suffice
To equalise the lofty and the low.
We sail the sea of life—a calm one finds,
And one a tempest—and, the voyage o'er,
Death is the quiet haven of us all.[45]
The tranquil life of Chiabrera was agreeably varied by his love, not exactly of travelling, but of visiting the various cities of Italy, and by the honours paid him by its princes, in recompence for his poetry, which was enthusiastically admired by all his countrymen. He never made any long stay away from home, except at Genoa and Florence, and there he possessed friends who were glad to welcome him; for if he was of an irascible, he was of a placable disposition, and though serious of aspect, he was gay and good-humoured in society. The grand duke of Tuscany, Ferdinand I., held him in high esteem, and employed him in arranging various dramatic representations on the marriage of Mary de' Medici with the king of France. Charles Emanuel, duke of Savoy, made him generous offers of remuneration, if he would take up his abode at his court; but Chiabrera wisely preferred his independence. It has been mentioned that he arranged the interludes of a comedy of Guarini, when it was represented on occasion of the marriage of the son of the duke of Mantua with a princess of Savoy. All these princes rewarded him with gifts, or honours, which he seems to have set a still higher value upon; lodging him in their palaces, sending their carriages for his conveyance, and permitting him to remain covered in their presence. He had been the intimate friend of cardinal Barberini, and when the latter was created pope, under the name of Urban VIII., Chiabrera often visited Rome, though he would never reside there; and the pope made him priestly gifts of agnus dei and medallions, and in the year of the jubilee wrote him a brief, or letter of compliment, similar to those sent to sovereign princes and men of the highest rank.
Chiabrera was always an orthodox catholic, "a sinner," he expresses it, "but not without Christian devotion. He had Santa Lucia for his advocate, and during a space of sixty years, he never failed twice a day to devote himself to pious thoughts, which continued uppermost in his mind all his life." His moderate desires and temperate habits assisted to preserve him in uninterrupted good health. He died at the advanced age of eighty-six, and was buried in his own chapel in the church of San Giacomo.
[42]Vita di se stesso.
[43]Muratori.
[44]There is no English word that gives the exact idea of a canzone; we call such lyrical poems; yet in Italian they form a class apart.
[45]Per il Signor Giambattista Feo.
Uomo non è, che pervenuto a morte
Non possa raccontar della sua vita
Lunghi travagli. Il cavalier di Marte
Dirà le piaghe, e lo splendor de' brandi,
Ed il suon delle trombe: il condannato,
Nelle gran Reggie, ad inchinar la fronte,
De' Re scettrati, narrerà le frodi,
Le lunghe invidie, ed i sofferti affanni
Infra le schiere de' bugiardi amici.
Io, che mi vissi in su spalmate prore,
Potrei rappresentar l' orribil faccia
Del mar irato, ed i rabbiosi sdegni
E d'Austro e di Boöte. Anni cinquanta
Commandai su galere a buon nocchieri:
Dal gran Peloro all' Atlantei colonne
Non sorge monte a gli occhi miei non noto,
E gli ampj golfi veleggiai più volte:
D' ogni nube, che in ciel fosse raccolta,
Seppi la forza, onde marino orgoglio
A' legni miei non valse fare oltraggio.
Che nobil pompa non mirai sovente
Su regie poppe? E pure io provo al fine,
Che le disuguaglianze un' ora adegua.
Tutti quaggiuso navighiamo in forse.
Altri ha tempesta, ed altri ha calma, e poscia
Nel porto della Morte ognun dà fondo.