Veronica da Gambara died in 1550, and was buried by her husband.
It should seem that poetical talents and conjugal truth and tenderness were inherent in the family of Veronica. Her niece, Camilla Valentini, the authoress of some very sweet poems, which are to be found in various Scelte, married the Count del Verme, who died after a union of several years. She had flung herself, in a transport of grief, on the body of her husband; and when her attendants attempted to remove her, they found her—dead! Even in that moment of anguish her heart had broken.
O judge her gently, who so deeply loved!
Her, who in reason's spite, without a crime,
Was in a trance of passion thus removed!
I have been detained too long in "the sweet South;" yet, before we quit it for the present, I must allude to one or two names which cannot be entirely passed over, as belonging to the period of which we have been speaking—the golden age of Italy and of literature.
Bernardino Rota, who died in 1575, a poet of considerable power and pathos, has left a volume of poems, "In vita e in morte di Porzia Capece;" she was a beautiful woman of Naples, whom he loved and afterwards married, and who was snatched from him in the pride of her youth and beauty. Among his Sonnets, I find one peculiarly striking, though far from being the best. The picture it presents, with all its affecting accompaniments, and the feelings commemorated, are obviously taken from nature and reality. The poet—the husband—approaches to contemplate the lifeless form of his Portia, and weeping, he draws from her pale cold hand the nuptial ring, which he had himself placed on her finger with all the fond anticipations of love and hope—the pledge of a union which death alone could dissolve: and now, with a breaking heart, he transfers it to his own. Such is the subject of this striking poem, which, with some few faults against taste, is still singularly picturesque and eloquent, particularly the last six lines.—
SONETTO.
Questa scolpita in oro, amica fede,
Che santo amor nel tuo bel dito pose,
O prima a me delle terrene cose!
Donna! caro mio pregio,—alta mercede—
Ben fu da te serbata; e ben si vede
Che al commun' voler' sempre rispose,
Del dì ch' il ciel nel mio pensier' t' ascose,
E quanto puote dar, tutto mi diede!
Ecco ch' io la t' invola—ecco ne spoglio
Il freddo avorio che l' ornava; e vesto
La mia, più assai che la tua, mano esangue.
Dolce mio furto! finchè vivo io voglio
Che tu stia meco—ne le sia molesto
Ch' or di pianto ti bagni,—e poi di sangue!
LITERAL TRANSLATION.
"This circlet of sculptured gold—this pledge which sacred affection placed on that fair hand—O Lady! dearest to me of all earthly things,—my sweet possession and my lovely prize,—well and faithfully didst thou preserve it! the bond of a mutual love and mutual faith, even from that hour when Heaven bestowed on me all it could bestow of bliss. Now then—O now do I take it from thee! and thus do I withdraw it from the cold ivory of that hand which so adorned and honoured it. I place it on mine own, now chill, and damp, and pale as thine.—O beloved theft!—While I live thou shall never part from me. Ah! be not offended if thus I stain thee with these tears,—and soon perhaps with life drops from my heart."