Transcriber’s Note: There is a good deal of inconsistency with regard to spelling, accents etc in the Spanish passages of this text. These have been preserved as printed rather than attempting to correct or standardise.

MODERN POETS
AND
POETRY OF SPAIN.

By JAMES KENNEDY, Esq.,
HER BRITANNIC MAJESTY’S JUDGE IN THE MIXED COURT
OF JUSTICE AT THE HAVANA.

WILLIAMS AND NORGATE,
14, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON;
AND
20, SOUTH FREDERICK STREET, EDINBURGH.
1860.

TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
GEORGE, EARL OF CARLISLE,
&c. &c.

My Lord,

I have sought permission to inscribe your Lordship’s name on this page, as a favour appropriate to my work, under the considerations in which it originated.

I began these translations, partly as a means of acquiring an accurate knowledge of the Spanish language, and partly as a relaxation from other studies and pursuits, about the time when your Lordship, in the course of your statesmanlike visit to America, made, in 1842, a lengthened stay in Cuba, studying the circumstances of those countries, which are soon, perhaps, to take a yet more prominent place, than they do at present, in the history of the world.

The discussions I heard respecting that visit—for it was then considered an extraordinary one—raised in my mind many suggestions, as to the benefits that must accrue to the public from the observations of individual travellers. Accordingly as each one might have his special object in view, his sphere of action or opportunities of learning, so the knowledge he acquired might be proportionately imparted. The community at large had always evinced the greatest interest in the accounts given by travellers of their visits to foreign countries, as was shown by the favourable reception uniformly given to their works. Of these many that were published were well deserving of the popularity they obtained, especially as with regard to Spain there were several that left little for any future writer to supply of ordinary information. In one respect, however, all such works appeared to me to be deficient, though their failure was almost unavoidable, in the case of transient visitors, in their being unable to convey any adequate idea of the state of mental culture among the people they visited.

Yet this, to a philosophic reader, would be undoubtedly the truest test of the state of civilization to which any nation had attained. Such a reader would not be contented with merely a recital of the every-day occurrences of travelling, nor yet with general or statistical information respecting any people, obtained from ordinary sources. He would rather seek to follow them into the occupations of private life and into their favourite courses of thought and feeling, judging of these by the studies of their better classes of society, in their hours of relaxation or for domestic enjoyment. As the sagest of the Roman emperors, M. Antoninus, observed, To know any people’s minds and inclinations, we should examine their studies and pursuits,—τὰ ἡγεμονικὰ αὐτῶν διάβλεπε, καὶ τοὺς Φρόνιμους, διὰ μέν Φεύγουσιν, διὰ δὲ διώκουσιν.

Few persons going abroad for a short period, or for a specific purpose, could be expected to acquire such an intimate knowledge of the literature of any country as to be able to render a satisfactory account of it. Where, however, any one had the means and the leisure to do so, that seemed to me the task most worthy for him to undertake.

As a servant of the public, I considered this more peculiarly a duty; and I therefore ventured, by extending my studies, to attempt giving a comprehensive view of Modern Spanish Poetry, and so complete the representations of Spanish society and manners given by other writers. This I thought best to be done, first, by compiling some critical and biographical notices of the principal modern poets; and, next, by endeavouring to transfuse into English verse the most favourable specimens of their productions, by which the English reader might in some degree be enabled to judge of their merits.

Such was the task I then set before me, the results of which I now offer to the public as my contribution to the store of general knowledge. For such a work there can be little merit claimed, except that for patient industry. But as a naturalist or collector of works of art patriotically endeavours to bring home the most valuable productions or treasures of other countries, so I trust that this work may also be favourably accepted, as a praiseworthy attempt to enrich our English literature with what was most interesting in the Spanish.

I have relied on your Lordship’s approval of the design, from your well-known anxiety and constant efforts to improve the moral and social condition of the people, by literary as well as by legislative means. Sharing in the public respect for those efforts on their behalf, and with much thankfulness for the sanction afforded me, I have the honour to subscribe myself,

Your Lordship’s

Most obedient,

Humble Servant,

J. KENNEDY.

London,
May 6, 1852.

INTRODUCTION.

Those writers are very much mistaken who suppose, that, consequent upon the long domination of the Moors in Spain, there are to be found in Spanish literature any of the exuberances of style which are considered the principal characteristics of Eastern poetry. In all the Moorish ballads that have been handed down to us, those characteristics, both in thought and expression, abound as much as in the poems of more Eastern nations. But in even the earliest Spanish ballads, contemporary with the Moorish, a very decided difference is to be observed, as they show, on the contrary, a simplicity of expression and propriety of thought, which present an extraordinary contrast, not only to the Moorish, but also to the early poetry of other European countries. This favourable distinction has continued to the present day. The poetry of the Northern nations of Europe has been marked by extravagances throughout, as contrary to common sense as to good taste and nature. That of the French school has been distinguished by an affectation, a sentimentality and straining after effect, to say nothing of its peculiar ribaldry and licentiousness, all equally removed from the true feeling of poetry. Even the Italians, in their poetical works, have indulged in strange absurdities, the more remarkable from the good taste that has pervaded their other works of genius. It is only in English literature that we can find writers imbued with the same vigour of thought and depth of poetic feeling as the Spanish, and it is therefore only with them that the latter can be classed in considering the relative merits of the poetry of different modern nations.

If the character of the poetry may be taken as the criterion by which to judge of the degree of civilization to which any people had attained in the earlier period of their history, Spain has a good right to claim the first place among the nations of Europe, when emerging from that period denominated the Dark Ages. While the popular poetry of other nations at that period was almost entirely occupied with childish stories of giants and supernatural beings, or in magnifying the outrages of their heroes, and even of their outlaws, as if they were honourable exploits, instead of merely murder and rapine, the Spanish bards were engaged in celebrating the patriotism and prowess of their Christian warriors in strains not unworthy of the deeds they commemorated. Those strains have been made sufficiently well-known to the English reader by the labours of Southey and Lockhart, for which the student of Spanish literature must feel the utmost respect and gratitude, as well as by those of Rodd, Bowring and others. From their translations the character of those warriors will be found to have been distinguished, differently from those of other nations in that age, for the milder virtues combined with pure chivalrous enterprise. If, as apparently was the case, the great champion, known as the Cid, especially was deserving of the eminently honourable character depicted for him by the poets, the popular feeling must have attained something of the same tone when he was adopted as the first object of national regard. Coming of a chivalrous race, engaged in a sacred warfare, the Cid combined in his character all that was most noble in human conduct, and gave to his countrymen a fame which they knew full well how to appreciate. Thus the spirit which the ballads breathed in recounting his exploits was one in unison with that of the people. Each Spaniard of after-times, in listening to those recitals, felt he had no need to connect himself with fabulous narratives. He could say, like Diomede,—“Of this race and blood do I boast myself to be”—

Ταύτης τοι γενεῆς τε καὶ αἴματος εὕχομαι εἶναι,

and so feeling could identify himself truly with his heroes.

Formed originally of very different races, Celts and Goths, mixed with the descendants of Romans and Phœnicians or Carthaginians, the Spaniards had against the Moors become amalgamated into one people, whose great bond of union was their religion more even than their country. This holy cause ennobled their conduct, and gave them higher aims and motives than any ordinary warfare could do; so that acting constantly under the sense of such feelings, their national character assumed the staid bearing, which has always since so favourably distinguished it. Hence also the national literature, even in its lightest productions, assumed the tone of high moral and practical tendency which it has generally borne, far removed from the comparatively trifling topics which formed the staple subjects of the literature of neighbouring countries.

There is another mistake into which some writers have fallen, in supposing that Spain owed her civilization entirely to the Moors. The Arab conquest undoubtedly entailed on her for many ages a succession of enlightened as well as warlike rulers, who are justly to be classed among the greatest patrons of literature and art; but they fostered rather than founded the sciences that afterwards flourished under their rule, and which they found preparing to burst forth in the country they conquered. Though their forefathers might have come from the seats of learning in the East, such as they then were, the immediate conquerors of Spain were natives of the neighbouring parts of Africa, where the sciences had not flourished in any remarkable degree before the conquest, and where they did not rise subsequently to any eminence. The learned Lampillas, who has given us a very able Vindication of Spanish Literature, in answer to the attacks of some Italian critics, might justly have gone further than he has done as to its merits under the Moorish domination. Rather than as owing her advances in learning and civilization to the Moors, it is more probable that these were the remains of former civilization, existing among the Roman colonies on the dissolution of the empire. At that time Spain was essentially inhabited by descendants of Romans, as it still continues to be, mainly, to the present day. Latin had become the language of the country, and the best of the later Latin authors, Seneca, Lucan, Martial, Quinctilian and others, were natives of the Peninsula. The Romans had planted sixty-seven colonies there, and in the time of Vespasian could enumerate 360 cities inhabited by them. These would undoubtedly retain their municipal institutions, and were perhaps more retentive of Roman manners than were even the towns of Italy. The original inhabitants had been driven into the mountains of Catalonia, Cantabria and Lusitania. They were of Celtic origin, and their descendants in those provinces still show that origin by a different pronunciation of the language imposed on the country by the Romans; while the Castillians, being of purer descent from them, speak even now a language little different from that in common colloquial use under the Emperors. The lower orders, in fact, speak an idiom nearer to it than do the educated classes, showing that the main race of the people, in Madrid for instance, remains essentially Roman. In Betica or Andalusia and the South of Spain, the descendants of Romans had become incorporated with those of Phœnician or Carthaginian and a few Greek colonists, forming together a race perhaps still more civilized than the new-comers. Thus the Moors found the people they had conquered in a high state of civilization, scarcely affected by former conquests, and they had only the merit of accepting and continuing the mental culture which they found there, and which they had not possessed in their native deserts.

The Goths and Vandals had swept like a hurricane over Spain; but they passed over it without leaving any considerable traces of their conquest. This is clear from the circumstance of so few Northern words remaining in the language of the country. At the entrance of the Moors into Spain, the dominant party there was certainly of Gothic descent; but they had already lost their Northern idioms, and were immerged in the mass of the people they had conquered, in the usual course of such events, as the Scandinavians soon did in Normandy and the Normans in England. When the races had begun to amalgamate in Spain, the distinctive lines might have been longer discernible in the South, if it had not been for the Moorish invasion. This soon repeated the events of former conquests, in the extermination of the fighting men and the enslaving of the other classes, who became feudatories or worse. Those who escaped to the mountains of the North constituted a nucleus of resistance, which was no doubt much strengthened in their subsequent contests by the aid of the Christian population left of necessity among the Moors, who thus became dangerous as internal enemies, though they had been tolerated at first as valuable dependents. The war that then arose in Spain, and continued for upwards of 600 years, was imbued, on the part of the Christians, with all those ingredients of religious as well as patriotic feeling that render wars remarkable for desperate conflict. On the part of the Moors, it is but justice toward them to say, that for chivalrous honour and bravery they proved themselves in no respect inferior to their opponents, who, thus engaged in generous rivalry, became distinguishable for the same virtues.

The circumstances of the wars between the Christians and the Moors were too near to the every-day experience of the people to allow of any imaginary addition to the legends of the times, and they were too engrossing in importance and interest to require any heightening. The ballads founded upon them, therefore, assumed almost the matter-of-fact air of history, and this seemed hence to become the characteristic of all the subsequent literature of Spain. It is true that romances abounded in which giants and other absurdities of knight-errantry might be found, but they were principally of foreign origin, and did not become incorporated in the national poetry. This national poetry was always true to its mission, for it may be observed that the poets of Spain have seldom or never gone beyond their own history for their heroes; they have rather instinctively followed the maxim of the great lyrist of old, not to select objects of admiration from strangers, but to seek them at home,—

Οὐδ’ ἀλλοτρίων ἔρωτες

Ἀνδρὶ Φέρειν κρέσσονες,

Οἰκόθεν μάτευε.

Thus also they were secure of the sympathy of their audience, and found patriotism the best inspirer of poetry.

None of the Spanish poets, of either former or present times, can be said to have attained the highest rank; yet as they have always shown a predilection for subjects of real incident and passion or feeling, they have gained, in perhaps a greater degree than those of any other modern nation, that hold upon the popular affections which arises from all earnest participation in kindred sentiments. This might arise partly from the national character developed, as before intimated, in the Moorish wars, and partly from the personal tendencies of the respective individuals. Whilst in other countries the poets were generally to be found among the classes dependent upon the rich and powerful, in Spain they were persons generally of the highest classes. Some were of royal rank, others were eminent as statesmen, and others, if not of the same high station, were yet equally engaged in military service or the active business of life. Three of the most favourite poets, Garcilasso de la Vega, Manrique, and Cadahalso, died the death of soldiers from wounds received in warfare. Ercilla, author of the chief poem in the Spanish language, which may be considered an Epic, was a participant in the wars he so graphically describes. Cervantes received three wounds at the battle of Lepanto, by one of which he lost an arm. Calderon de la Barca passed many years of his life in the campaigns in the Low Countries, where he gained great military reputation; and Lope de Vega was one of the few adventurers in the “Invincible Armada” who were fortunate enough to return to their native country. Such men were not likely to indulge in dreamy idealities, or idle reveries, and fantastic imaginations, the offspring of morbid temperaments and sedentary habits. On the contrary, they were only calculated to adopt that peculiar manliness of style and sentiment, which their successors, from example, from national character, and from being placed in similar circumstances of life, have continued. How far those circumstances have affected the modern literature of Spain may be best seen from the memoirs hereafter detailed of the principal poets individually. Our present purpose in this Introduction is only to make general observations to lead to the conclusions that may be deduced from them.

Spain, as it has been already observed, cannot boast of having ever produced a poet of the highest class, meaning by that term, one of such high creative genius as to stamp his character, not only on the literature of his own age and country, but also on that of all successive ages within his possible influence. Of such poets the world has only seen four or five at the utmost, with the exception of the inspired writers, referring to Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton, and perhaps we may add, Byron. With these, Virgil and other imitators must not be classed, however great the talents they may have displayed, nor yet other writers of greater originality and even genius, who have, however, confined themselves to minor works or those on less important subjects. Of such writers of great original genius, who did not aim at works of the highest order, Spanish literature may claim as many as that of any other country. With them the English reader has been made acquainted more fully than with the writers of most other modern countries, by the works of Bouterwek and Sismondi, translated respectively by Mrs. Ross and William Roscoe, and now by the more comprehensive work of Mr. Ticknor (New York, 1849; London, 1850), who has supplied the deficiencies the others had left in the course of their inquiries. Of these works Sismondi’s is little more than a repetition of Bouterwek’s, without the acknowledgement made which was in justice due to his original. That however was in reality so jejune in treating of the materials at the command of the writer, as almost to warrant the use of his materials for a livelier production. Another work has been lately published on Spanish literature by Mr. A. F. Foster (Edinburgh, 1851), compiled in like manner from former writers, which, for succinct and able treatment of the subject, may perhaps be recommended as the one best suited to the general reader. But Mr. Ticknor’s book must remain the great work of reference to the older Spanish authors, as he has left little for future writers to supply respecting them. Yet neither has he gone scarcely any further than Bouterwek, who wrote at the beginning of this century, and since whose time so many writers have arisen in Spain superior to any perhaps that have preceded them. In such works we have more cause to congratulate ourselves on having any one to undertake the labour of going over so wide a field, than to complain of his stopping short at a point where less was known of Spanish literature, and where it became so much more interesting as connected with our own times. But as all the compilers now mentioned have so confined their labours to works written previously to the present century, it may be considered acceptable, in continuation of them, that the present essay should be offered to the public. This is, however, also undertaken on a more extended and somewhat different plan; not merely giving short notices of the several authors and their works, as in the nature of a catalogue or dictionary, but taking only the principal poets for a particular account of their history, and giving translations from their works most characteristic of their genius or best suited for translation, for the purpose of enabling the critical notices respecting them to be better understood.

In treating of the literature of any country historically, it may perhaps be considered necessary to give a catalogue of every person who has published a book of any pretensions to notice, whatever the different gradations of talent between the authors; but for the general reader, the better course seems rather to be to pass by those works which the nation had not accepted as to be incorporated in the national literature, and to dwell extendedly on those which, by repeated editions, were entitled to be considered of that character. Bouterwek’s work on Spanish literature, which appears to have been his own performance, and which certainly does great credit to his industry, is an exemplification of the former course. The volume on Portuguese literature, under his name, which he acknowledges to have been the contribution of a friend, is not so liable to the same objection, and may be considered written according to the other. It is so difficult a task, and so enviable a lot for any one to attain to excellence above his fellows, that beyond its being due to his own merits, it is an advantage to others to show them by his example the way to attain to the same eminence. Johnson, in his Lives of the English Poets, has given us a work admirable for its criticisms as well as for the other lessons it conveys for general conduct in life; but those criticisms would have lost much of their effect, if they had not had appended to them the works to which they referred. Biography, to be worthy of study, should be something more than a mere enumeration of those particulars of a man’s life which are of the common class of every-day events, so as to be the reflex of every one’s in his station. If any man’s life be at all more memorable than that of ordinary mortals, the means by which he obtained his reputation alone merit a lengthened consideration for an example for others. With authors those claims must rest on their writings, which will speak for themselves; but this cannot be the case with foreign authors, as few readers of other nations can ever be expected to have acquired their language so perfectly as to understand the essential beauty of their poetry. To enable such readers therefore to understand their works, or even the criticisms upon them, a translation is necessary, on which again much depends, not only in respect of faithfulness but also of felicity of transcript, to render the beauties of the original sufficiently perceptible.

Many rules have been given by critics for the benefit of translators from the earliest times till now, to which it is not necessary here to refer further than to state the plan upon which these translations have been made. In a didactic or historical work, the more precisely the translation is made according to the letter of the original, the greater merit may it be considered to possess. But in works of imagination, especially of poetry, it may be more important to attend to the spirit of the original than to the literal construction. The main thoughts contained in each passage should be as faithfully given in the one case as in the other, though it may not be necessary, and sometimes not even becoming, to have the same regard to details. With poetry, the translator should make it his great aim to consider how his author would have expressed the same thoughts if he had been writing in English verse, and thus mould the original ideas into synonymous poetical expressions, as far as the idioms of the two languages and the requirements of metre will allow. It would be a poor vanity in a translator to think of improving on his original, so far as to make any alteration or addition merely for that purpose. But where any words admit of synonyms with different shades of meaning, it is certainly his right, if not his duty, to adopt the one he thinks most suitable. Sometimes it may seem to him accordant with good taste to make a more decided alteration, and in every language there are many expressions sufficiently poetical and appropriate, which if construed literally into another would appear otherwise. These the author, it may be supposed, would have altered himself, under the same circumstances, and the other, therefore, in so doing, would be only acting on his presumed wishes. In all cases much must be left of necessity to the translator’s judgement, and he, with every care he can take, must still be content to share, with Pope and Dryden and the greatest masters of rhyme, the consciousness of scarcely ever being able fully to convey the conceptions of a foreign author. The shackles of rhyme also require something to be sacrificed to them, so as of themselves alone to prevent any exact copy being given in verse. Yet still acting on the above considerations, and by rejecting expletives in some cases and adding a few in others, in following up the train of ideas suggested by the original, we may hope to succeed perhaps not only in giving the meaning, but something also of the spirit even of foreign authors.

It is fortunate for any writer to have his works sent forth to the world in any language of more than usual ascendency, such as the Latin or English, whereby to obtain for himself, if he can claim it, the most extended reputation. But it is more fortunate for a translator under similar circumstances, because languages of such a character are almost of necessity mixed languages, acquiring from that cause an extraordinary nerve and richness, which render translations into them to be made more easily and satisfactorily than from them into a poorer. The English is essentially suited for such a purpose, as, being compounded of the French and German languages, it becomes a double one, combining the nerve of the one with the facility of expression of the other, and the copiousness arising from the union of both. The Latin is still more a mixed language, the roots of which are yet to be developed, notwithstanding all the labours of philologists, who have erred in wandering after imaginary extinct languages for its derivations, instead of looking into those yet existing. Considering the Spanish to be the direct descendant of the Latin, it may be a matter of surprise that, though a very sonorous language, it cannot be termed a rich one. Abounding in long words (sesquipedalia verba), it loses in precision and strength what is gained in sound, and thus the ideas are encumbered when simplification was required. The comparatively monosyllabic character of the English language has in this respect an immense advantage for the translator, as it enables him to give the sentiments of the original more concisely than one from it into another. Having also more synonyms with different shades of meaning, a greater precision may be lost or gained, according to the circumstances and the judgement applied to them. Thus a translation may sometimes be even superior to the original, from its giving the ideas more distinctly, and as it is the test of good writing to find how it reads in another language, so with really superior authors it may be a matter of little importance in what version their thoughts are expressed. “Words are the daughters of earth, but thoughts are the sons of heaven.” It is not presumed hereby that the following translations all come under this consideration, but with the advantages above expressed, it may be hoped that, as exotics in a greenhouse, these flowers of Spanish poetry may be found pleasing representations of what they were in their native soil, even if they cannot be made entirely denizens of our own.

Differing entirely from those writers who suppose that the best days of Spanish literature have gone by, and believing, on the contrary, that it never has been more truly original and flourishing than during the present and preceding ages, it might be justly considered presumptuous in any new author to present such opinions to the world without showing the grounds on which they were founded. Bouterwek and his copyist, Sismondi, together with their criticisms on the several Spanish poets, contented themselves with giving merely a few lines from the more favoured ones in their original language, without any translation whereby to enable those ignorant of it to judge even of the thoughts they contained. They thus resemble the wiseacre in Hierocles (the Σχολαστικὸς, which word Johnson has strangely translated ‘pedant,’ taking the primary for the intended meaning), who brought a stone as a description of a building. In so doing, they have seldom given even favourable specimens; but if they had, there are few authors who can be rightly estimated by isolated passages, or even by any one short poem. Almost all authors are unequal in their productions, and many seem, by an accidental felicity, to have produced some one effusion to which none of their other efforts could ever approach. As instances of this, we may note Heber’s ‘Palestine;’ Pringle’s lines, ‘Afar in the Desert,’ and Leyden’s ‘Ode to an Indian Gold Coin,’ which Colton has pronounced, in his opinion, “to come as near to perfection as the sublunary Muse can arrive at.”

It is only by several well-sustained efforts that any author has a right to be placed among poets, and it would not be just, therefore, to judge of any without such a consideration of their productions. In all the translations here given, the most characteristic specimens of the style of each writer have been sought, particularly those containing what seemed to be his favourite course of thought, while selecting entire, though generally short, poems for that purpose. With the exception of the Duke de Rivas, the poets enumerated in this work have not published poems of any great length, and therefore the plan adopted may be considered altogether appropriate to the object in view.

With regard to the metres chosen, no rule has been attempted of taking the original strictly for a guide, where the style of verse, in a different language, would not admit of it easily. Perhaps the truest definition of Poetry may be given in the words of our great poet—

“Thoughts that voluntary move

Harmonious numbers—”

for it may be observed, that the finest passages are generally the easiest for translation and for rhyme. Thus keeping the original constantly in view as the guide, the verse has been adopted as the thoughts seemed to indicate the metre most appropriate.

With the disadvantage of rhyme, in a foreign language, no apology is requisite for the ruggedness of any lines which the critic may point out. I differ totally from those writers, Coleridge and others, who affect a contempt for finished versification, and rely entirely on the brilliancy of their ideas. Whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well, according to the writer’s best capability, and the reader’s ear ought surely to be as much consulted as his mind is sought to be engaged. Those who have had to write “nonsense verses” at school or college, have no right to excuse themselves from labouring to make their lines run smoothly. If, therefore, any of the following translations are not so rendered, it will occasion the writer much regret that his best efforts for that purpose have been unsuccessful.

Another complaint may be anticipated, that this work does not comprehend authors either in prose or the drama. The fault, if it be one, must be admitted, with the observation, that the task undertaken was felt sufficient of itself to require the best exertions of the writer. According to the plan laid down of giving only entire pieces, in the case of including either prose or dramatic writers, the work would have been increased to an inordinate extent, or the plan must have been adopted of giving extracts, which would be contrary to the opinion expressed of the best course to be pursued. If this attempt should meet with public approbation, some one else may be induced to continue the further service. If it should not, the labour expended on a larger work would be so much more given in vain. In the one case, the failure might be ascribed to having attempted too much; in the other, the approbation might not have been gained but for the efforts having been directed undividedly to what was thus only within the reach of accomplishment.

In sequence of the remark before made, of the manly style of thought, feeling and expression which had characterized the older Spanish writers, from their having been persons generally who had engaged in the active affairs of life, the reader may perhaps feel interested in tracing how the same causes have produced the same effects with their successors. From the memoirs hereafter detailed, it may be seen that no fewer than six out of the twelve had to suffer the evils of exile for public or private opinions, of whom three so died unhappily in foreign countries. Three others, though not actually exiled, were subjected to long and cruel imprisonment for the same causes, while two out of the remaining three had to take their share of burdens in the public service during the troubled state of the country. Such men could have no mawkish sentiments to develope, and no fantastic feelings to indulge. What they felt, they felt deeply; what they observed, they observed distinctly, and thus were enabled to give their thoughts and feelings clearly and strongly.

But in addition to the causes assigned for the superior character of modern Spanish poetry in particular, there is one other to be suggested, the association of which may perhaps occasion some surprise, though it may not be for that the less indubitable. This is the fact of the later Spanish writers having, perhaps unconsciously, but unmistakenly, taken better models than their predecessors by preferring the study of English literature to that of the French. This fact, though without the full inference that might have been drawn from it, has been observed by a German author, F. J. Wolf, of the Imperial Library at Vienna, who has published a collection of modern Spanish poetry, with biographical notices, Paris, 1837, in two volumes—‘Floresta de Rimas Modernas Castellanas.’ It is an interesting collection, but being all given in the Spanish language, is only available to those who are acquainted with it. In the introduction to this work, Wolf treats of the “efforts of Melendez and the Salamanca school to give a new splendour to Spanish poetry, partly by the study and imitation of the ancient and good Spanish writers, taking advantage of the national forms, and partly by making it more profound and substantial, imitating not only and exclusively the French, but also and especially the English.” (Page 15.)

During the early part of the last century, consequent upon the accession of the Bourbons to the throne, the writers of verse in Spain, who obtained most favour among their contemporaries, formed their style avowedly upon the model of what was called the French school, and thus taking examples unworthy of imitation, became still more wretched as copyists. Towards the end of the century, however, a feeling arose, on the other side, in favour of the study of English literature, which has led to the happiest results. Of the twelve poets whose lives and poems it is the purpose of this work to delineate, no fewer than ten may be observed acquainted in no inconsiderable degree with the best English authors and proficient in the English language. Two only, Breton de los Herreros and Zorrilla, seem not to have extended their studies so far. With the peculiar humorous vein of the former, perhaps the deficiency may not be considered as leaving any merit to be supplied. But it does seem a matter of regret that a person of Zorrilla’s exalted genius should have confined his studies so much to French writers, and so have deprived himself of the expansion necessary for the highest flights of poetry. France has never produced a great painter or a great poet. The very language, so monotonous and unmusical, in having the accent almost invariably on the last syllable of the words, seems opposed to rhythmical cadence, and not to admit of the highest excellence either in oratory or poetry. Whatever may be the cause, it is evident that such excellence has not been attained in the language, and therefore the best works in it cannot be models for imitation when they are only themselves of an inferior value.

Beyond the writers enumerated hereafter, whose memoirs and writings are to be considered worthy of fuller notice, there are several others who, as especially coming under the consideration above suggested, may here be noticed in further corroboration of the statements we have made.

1. Juan de Escoiquiz, tutor to Ferdinand VII., one of the most upright, if not most successful, public men of his time, published, in 1798, an epic poem ‘On the Conquest of Mexico,’ which showed considerable poetical ability, though it did not obtain much popular favour. In 1797 he published a translation of Young’s ‘Night Thoughts,’ from the English into Spanish verse, and in 1814 a translation of Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost.’ Of the former, a translation in prose had been previously published by Cristoval Caldera. Escoiquiz died in 1814.

2. Josè de Cadalso or Cadahalso, born 1741, was a person of rank and fortune, who had travelled much in his youth, and become proficient in various foreign languages and literatures, especially the English. He wrote several works, both in prose and verse, which were received with great favour at the time, and have been republished frequently since his death. The last edition was in 1818, in three volumes, under the editorship of the late learned Navarrete, who appended to them an interesting biography of the author. Among the miscellanies are several translations from the English, which language, we are informed, Cadalso not only studied himself assiduously, but induced Melendez Valdes to adopt for peculiar study also. This eminent poet was in early life so assisted by Cadalso as to have been pronounced his “best work,” and he, as may be seen hereafter, seems sedulously to have followed the good counsels and example given him by his friend. Cadalso, like so many other of the principal poets of Spain, had embraced a military career, in which, having been ordered with his regiment to the siege of Gibraltar, he there received a wound of which he died a few days after, the 27th February, 1782. His death was a great loss to Spanish literature, and it was equally lamented by the English in the besieged fortress, by whom he was much esteemed from previous friendly communications.

3. The Conde de Noronia, born 1760, died 1816, another poetical writer of considerable reputation, was also engaged in military service, in which he attained high rank, and with the division of the Spanish army under his command, gained the victory at the battle of San Payo over the French. He was appointed ambassador successively at Berne and St. Petersburgh, and was celebrated as a diplomatist for his knowledge of English and other languages. Notwithstanding an active life in the public service, he found leisure for literary pursuits, and in 1800 published a collection of poems in two volumes. Among these are to be observed several translations from the English, of which one of Dryden’s celebrated ‘Ode for St. Cecilia’s Day,’ rendered into Spanish verse with much spirit, deserves particular mention. The best of his poems seems an ‘Ode on the Death of Cadalso,’ by whose side he was present when he received his wound. The Conde further attempted an epic, in twelve cantos, entitled ‘Ommiada,’ detailing the events in the reign of Abderaman, the last of the Ommiades, which poem was published in two volumes in 1816. For the purpose of assisting him in this work, he had translated several pieces from the Arabic and other eastern languages into Spanish verse, published since at Paris in 1833.

4. Juan Maria Maury, who died in 1846, was another writer of considerable talent. He was sent early in life to France, and completed his education in England, becoming thereby well acquainted with the language and literature of both countries. His principal work is a poem entitled, ‘Esvero y Almedora,’ in twelve cantos, published at Paris in 1840. It is founded on the adventures of a passage-at-arms, held against all comers, in 1434, at the bridge of Orbiza, near Leon, and contains several interesting scenes spiritedly described. His earliest work was a poem he called ‘British Aggression,’ published in 1806, the sentiments of which he seems afterwards to have considerably modified. Maury appears to have been a person of very amiable character, and much esteemed by all who knew him, judging by the manner in which Del Rio and others write respecting him. In his latter years he resided almost entirely at Paris, and gained for himself the extraordinary merit of being esteemed also a correct writer of French verse, by his translations of the principal Spanish poets into that language. This work, published in two volumes at Paris in 1826, entitled, ‘Espagne Poétique, Choix de Poésies Castellanes depuis Charles Quint jusqu’à nos jours,’ is, as the name imports, a selection of Spanish poetry with critical and biographical notices, made with much taste and judgement, and forming altogether a very interesting work for the French student of Spanish literature. It is dedicated to his friends Arriaza and Quintana, in a poetical epistle, from which the following extract may be considered acceptable in corroboration of the previous remarks:—

“Sans doute, Emmanuel, aux champs de Tamise

Triomphe une vertu qu’ailleurs tu crus permise,

Et qui là fier génie a ravi le trident.

Jeune j’y respirai l’orgueil indépendant;

Là, j’admirai l’accord, merveille alors unique,

Qui règle et garantit, sur le sol britannique

Au trône ses splendeurs, aux grands l’autorité,

Aux citoyens leurs droits, qu’on nomma liberté,

Et le temps destructeur y consacre, y conserve

Le plus beau monument élevé par Minerve.”

5. Josè Joaquin Mora, born at Cadiz, 1783, and yet happily surviving, is another modern poet of great merit. When the French invaded Spain, he entered a regiment of dragoons in the national cause, and was made prisoner in 1809, in consequence of which he was detained in France six years. He took advantage of this residence in that country to pursue his studies, and on the return of peace he undertook the editorship of the ‘Scientific and Literary Chronicle of Madrid,’ which, in 1820, he converted into ‘The Constitutional.’ In 1823 he had to emigrate to London, where he wrote and published several periodical and other works, under the auspices of Messrs. Ackerman, besides various translations. He afterwards went to Buenos Ayres, Chili and Bolivia, from which last republic he returned to London as Consul-General, and published, in 1840, his principal work, entitled ‘Spanish Legends.’ This work, which is highly praised by Ochoa, gives, as the title imports, descriptive accounts of various events in the history of Spain, according to what seems to be the favourite formula of modern Spanish poetry. Another work he published, in 1826, entitled ‘Poetical Meditations,’ is founded principally on Blair’s celebrated poem, ‘The Grave.’ Wolf pronounces him excelling in his satirical essays, which, he says, are full of grace and ease.

In addition to the writers mentioned above, and those whose works form the main purpose of this work hereafter in detail, many others have appeared, both during the latter part of the last century and during the present, who have shown much talent, and have been deservedly received with much favour by their countrymen. It will be sufficient for us here to give the names of Cienfuegos, Tapia, Lista, Gallego, S. Bermudez de Castro, Garcia Gutierrez and Pastor Diaz among them; and to meet any observation that may be suggested on account of no fuller notice being taken of them, it may be allowed me to state, that I have notwithstanding read and examined carefully all their works, and those of many others whose names it is needless to recapitulate. I would further add, that in so doing, although there was certainly much in them to admire, yet there was nothing in them, in my judgement, suited for translation to interest English readers, whose tastes it was my duty principally to consult. Some of those just mentioned and others omitted, I have personally known and appreciated in private life, but in all the selections and criticisms made or repeated, I have allowed no consideration to weigh with me, except the respect due to superior merit alone. So much of this superior merit seemed to me to exist in modern Spanish literature, that I ventured to think the English public would receive favourably this attempt to make them acquainted with it. If it should fail, the blame must attach to the translator; if it be received favourably, there is yet a rich mine of intellectual wealth in store to reward the labours of those who choose to undertake it.

The student who wishes to follow in the same course, will find the way much prepared for him in the various collections of ancient and modern poetry lately published. Those by Maury and Wolf have been already mentioned. Quintana has, in the late edition of his great work, brought down the series of national poets to the beginning of this century; and Ochoa has, lastly, given a very valuable addition to his other labours of criticisms and compilation, in his Notices for a Library of contemporary Spanish writers;—‘Apuntes para una Biblioteca de Escritores Españoles contemporaneos,’ in two volumes, Paris, 1847. Ferrer del Rio has also conferred a great service on the national literature, by giving a series of biographical sketches, ably written, of the principal Spanish writers of the present day, ‘Galeria de la Literatura Española,’ published by Mellado, at Madrid, 1846. From these works, when no other authority is mentioned as of distinct character, the notices in this work have been compiled, except in a few instances, which will be found also generally stated when they have been obtained from private information. The facts, of necessity, could not but be learned from such sources, and the translator is only answerable for the selection of those he thought worthy of being repeated, and the arrangement, in addition to the criticisms that coincided with his own judgement, for his adoption.

In conclusion of these introductory remarks, it now only remains necessary further to observe, that the rules of Spanish versification are very similar to the English, being dependent upon accents, according to the rhythm adopted on certain syllables of each line, whether alternately or further removed. The rule as to rhyme is also the same, admitting of single or double rhymes, used in one case or the other, according as the accent is on the last syllable of the final word or the penultimate. The latter, however, is more common in Spanish than in English, where it seems only suited for the livelier strains of verse.

But in addition to the usual method of using rhymes, dependent in English and most other languages upon the consonants rather than the vowels, the Spaniards have a form of verse of which the rhyme is dependent on the vowel only, and the consonants may be entirely dissimilar. This form of verse they call Asonantes, in contradistinction to the other, which they call Consonantes, or full and perfect rhyme. Thus in the first stanza of the ‘Alcazar of Seville,’ the words prolijas and cornisas are Consonantes or full rhymes, but in the following verses miran and distintas are Asonantes, as also risa and evitan. The Spaniards conceive the Asonantes to be a form peculiar to themselves, but it is one common to many other nations, in the earlier stages of poetical composition. In the earliest Spanish poems, asonants and consonants were used together promiscuously, as may be observed particularly in the early poems in the Galician dialect; and it is curious to trace in this respect, as well as in many of their words, vestiges of their Celtic descent, this same form being also one of the prominent features of Celtic versification. In their modern asonante verse, the Spanish poets usually exclude consonantes, and that form continues in much favour, probably on account of the words in their language, as in the Latin, having generally so much the same sound as to make a variation pleasing to the ear, to break the monotonous effect of a too frequent recurrence of similar terminations. For this reason, no doubt, it was that the Latin poets did not adopt the system of rhymes, and for the same also it is common now in Spanish poems to have lines occasionally to which no other line presents a rhyme, giving thereby a pleasing effect to the whole. In our language, on the contrary, where, from the ruggedness of its character, the terminations vary so exceedingly as to make them often even difficult to be found for the purposes of rhyme, the recurrence of rhyme gives a more pleasing sound to the ear from the degree of surprise that is thus occasioned. In Spanish they might easily be made of one vowel termination for a long poem, so that the difficulty in it is to avoid the too frequent recurrence of the same sound.

Martinez de la Rosa has boasted of the variety of rhymes in Spanish; but he refers to double as well as single rhymes, and in this and in other respects is carried away by his ardour, in admiration of his country’s language, much further than the facts will be found to support him. Thus he also praises the number and variety of metres used in it as extraordinary, when in fact they are no more, so than any other neighbouring language could present. It may be justly conceded, that poetry has been cultivated lately in Spain with much assiduity and success; but there is no peculiarity in the language to give it an advantage over others in respect to metres. The strict censorship which has weighed down the energies of the country, with regard to most subjects of public discussion, has had the effect of directing talent to the cultivation of poetry, as almost the only road to literary reputation. This it is, combined with the sensitive character of the nation, that has made their poets attain the eminence we are bound in justice to award them; and it is fortunate for them that they have in their language so admirable an exponent of their genius, as it must in fairness be allowed, though the merit still remains peculiarly their own.

The following is a summary list of the principal Modern Spanish Poets whose memoirs and writings it is the object of this work more particularly to make known to the English public, given with a statement of dates respecting their lives, for the purpose of enabling the reader to compare more easily the periods in which they flourished. They are, it will be observed, twelve in number, and the list has been divided into two parts, as marking an evidently distinctive character of the poetry in the former and latter part of the epoch which they have rendered memorable.

PRELIMINARY NOTE.

For readers unacquainted with the Spanish language, it may be perhaps most advisable, in this place, to affix a few short instructions for the proper pronunciation of such names and words as are to be found in the following pages.

1. The vowels in Spanish have each invariably their peculiar sound; not as in English, where each has two or more sounds, making them in fact so distinct as strictly requiring to be designated by different characters, or after the manner of the Hebrew points. Thus a has always the broad open sound found in the English words arm, arrack.

e, long or short, as in the English words ere, ever.

i and y, as in machine, syntax.

o, long or short, as in ore, host, hostage.

u has uniformly the sound of oo in food. The Celtic sound of this vowel, preserved in France and Portugal, is unknown in Spain, and also in the Basque or Biscayan language.

2. Of the consonants, b has a softer sound than in English, and approaches to v, which again is made to sound like b. Thus the city of the Havana is, in Spanish spelling, La Habana, and the river Bidasoa is written Vidasoa.

c, before a, o, u, is to be pronounced hard, as in English; before e or i, it is to be sounded like th in thin, though in the provinces this pronunciation is giving way to the French and English mode of sounding the letter. Thus the name of the great Roman orator is pronounced Thithero. ch has always the soft sound it usually has in English, as in chat, check, chin, choke, chum.

d, at the end of a word, is generally pronounced like th: thus Madrid is Madrith; ciudad, a city, is pronounced thiudath; otherwise, both d and t are spoken as in English, or slightly more dentally.

f has the same sound as in English.

g is an aspirate, like our h, more or less guttural, according to the word. The soft sound of this letter, as in gem, left by the Celts in Italy and Portugal, is unknown in Spain, as is also the soft sound of the letter j.

h may be said to be invariably a silent letter, and seems only used to prevent two vowels running into each other, so as to form a diphthong.

j is a very harsh guttural, like the Hebrew Cheth. Thus Juan (John) is to be pronounced strongly, Hwan; Josè (Joseph) also strongly, Hosè.

The letters k, l, m, n, p, are the same as in English.

q or qu has the sound of our k: thus que (that) is the same as the Italian che.

r, s, t have the same sounds as in English, except that the first has one somewhat rougher, especially when two come together.

x is a strong guttural, for which j is now generally used, as Don Quijote.

z is pronounced as th: thus Cadiz is sounded Cadith.

The Spaniards consider their ll and ñ, or n with a circumflex, distinct letters, but they are in fact only the letters l or n with the sound of i after them, as in the English words million, minion, being the same sound that the French and Italians express by gn, or gl. Several names may be found in the body of this work altered according to our mode of spelling, though in the headings retained as in the original, as Padillia instead of Padilla. For the sake of preserving the sound free from constant explanation or confusion, the like course has been sometimes adopted with regard to other words, as, for instance, the name of the river Genil or Xenil, represented in English as Henil.

Two or more vowels coming together are enunciated so as to form one syllable generally in Spanish, and especially in poetry, yet nevertheless so as to allow of each vowel to be sounded distinctly, as each syllable is also.

With regard to accents, the general rule is, that it should be placed on the penultimate syllable. There are many exceptions, but in print these are always marked by the accent (´) on the vowel indicated, except in words of two syllables, which, if ending in a consonant, have generally the accent on the last syllable, if ending in a vowel, on the first, without being notified.

From these notices it may be observed, that the Spanish language is remarkable for two sounds, the guttural and the predominating th, which distinguish it from the two sister dialects of Italy and Portugal, while it is deficient in the soft sound of g and j, found so frequently used in the latter. These two assimilate so much to each other that natives of either country understand those of the other readily, while they cannot those of Spain, showing that the influence of the Gothic and Moorish invaders was impressed there on the pronunciation of the common language, though it was not extended to altering materially the language itself.

Besides the soft sound of the g, there are two other sounds unknown in Spanish, though common in Portugal and France, left by their former Celtic inhabitants, those of the sh or French j, and the disagreeable nasal pronunciation of the letter n. The latter is very slightly given in Don, and a few other words, but the other is unknown. In Portuguese it is so prevalent that they even use it for Latin words which it would be difficult to recognize at first as the originals from which the others were derived; thus the words pluvia, plorare, transformed in Spanish into lluvia, lorar, are in Portuguese further transformed into chuva (shuva), chorar (shorar). The natives of Galicia speak a dialect more allied to Portuguese than the Spanish, being of more decided Celtic descent, like the Portuguese, than the rest of the people of the Peninsula. The natives of Catalonia speak a dialect half French, half Spanish, which may be considered the representative of the ancient Provencal or Limoisin. It is very guttural as well as nasal. The Basque or Biscayan language is entirely distinct from the modern Spanish, and also from the Latin, the Celtic, or that of any neighbouring country, and is well deserving of study. It has no harsh or disagreeable sounds in it, and abounds in vowels, many words having not a single consonant in them.

ERRATA.

[Page 145], line 4, “has been announced,” &c. This statement is erroneous, the reference having been made to Mr. J. Russell’s Life of Gonzalo de Còrdova, translated from Quintana’s first volume, London, 1851.

CONTENTS.

MODERN POETS
AND
POETRY OF SPAIN.

PART I.

I.
[GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS].

[An able and distinguished writer] in the Madrid Review has observed, that if the question were asked as to which is the first great name in modern Spanish literature, the answer must unquestionably be—Jovellanos. It seems, therefore, only a just deference to his merits, though it is but a fortuitous coincidence in the order of dates, that we have to place his name first in the series of modern Spanish poets. It is, however, to his State Papers and his writings on Political Economy that he principally owes his reputation; though it is a proud consideration for Spanish literature, that, as regards him, as well as Martinez de la Rosa and the Duke de Rivas, she has to place the names of eminent statesmen among her principal poets.

Jovellanos was born the 5th of January, 1744, at Gijon, a town in the Asturias, of which his father was Regidor or one of the chief Magistrates. His family connections were of the class called Nobles, answering to the Noblesse of France, and were moreover very influential and sufficiently wealthy. To take advantage of the preferments these offered him, he was destined in early youth, being a younger son, for the church, in which he entered into the first orders for the purpose of holding several benefices that were given him. He studied consecutively at Oviedo, Avila and Osma, where he distinguished himself so much to the satisfaction of those interested in his fortunes, that he was removed, in 1764, to the University of Alcalà de Henares, and shortly afterwards to Madrid to study law. His friends and relatives, having become aware of his great talents, had now induced him to abandon the clerical profession and engage in secular pursuits. A person of his rank in those days was not at liberty to practise as an advocate, though the young Noble, under court favour, might administer the law; and thus he was, in 1767, when only in his twenty-fourth year, appointed judge of criminal cases at Seville. In this office he conducted himself with great ability and humanity, appearing to have been the first to abandon the employment of torture for obtaining confessions, which system has scarcely yet been discarded on the Continent. As characteristic of him, it may here be added, that he is reported to have been the first of the higher magistrates in Spain who gave up the use of the official wig; so that his unusual dress, combined with his youth, made him on the bench more observed than perhaps even his talents would at first have rendered him.

Whatever objections might have been made, if cause could be found, he seems, after having served nearly ten years as judge in the criminal courts, to have been advanced, with the approbation of all parties, to the office of judge in civil cases, also at Seville. This was an office much more agreeable to his inclinations, though the salary was no higher than what he had previously enjoyed. He had, however, other duties also entrusted to him of minor character, though of proportionate emolument, and thereupon he resigned his benefices in the church, which he had held till then, and to the duties of which he had strictly attended. Beyond this act of disinterestedness, he seems to have given his brother magistrates no inconsiderable inquietude at the same time by refusing some emoluments of office to which they considered themselves entitled. But their minds were soon relieved from the apprehensions his conduct might occasion them, as at the end of four years he was, in 1778, appointed judge of criminal cases at Madrid; an office generally considered of eminent promotion, but which he accepted with regret.

In after times, every letter and every notice of Jovellanos that could be found was eagerly sought and treasured up; and from these and his own memorandums, it appears he had good reason to consider the years he passed at Seville as the happiest of his life. Honoured in his public capacity and beloved in his social circle, he passed whatever time he could spare from his official or private duties in literary pursuits. It was then he wrote or prepared most of the lighter works which entitle him to be ranked among the poets of the age; the tragedy of “Pelayo,” and comedy of “The Honourable Delinquent,” both which were highly esteemed by his countrymen, as well as most of his minor poems. He did not however confine himself to such recreations, but at the same time entered on graver studies for the public service, on which his fame was eventually established.

Shortly after Jovellanos joined the courts at Seville, he had for one of his colleagues Don Luis Ignacio Aguirre, a person of high literary attainments, who had travelled much, and brought with him, as stated by Bermudez, many works in English on Political Economy. To understand these, Jovellanos immediately, under Aguirre’s guidance, proceeded to learn the English language, of which he soon obtained a competent knowledge. He then studied the science, then newly dawning, from the works his friend afforded him, and made himself a master of it, so as to give him a name among the most eminent of its professors. Not contented with these pursuits, his active mind was still further engaged in whatever could tend to the benefit of society in the place of his labours. He seems indeed to have always had before him the consideration of what might be the fullest duties his station imposed on him, beyond the mere routine of official services. Not confining himself to these, much less giving himself up to passive enjoyments, however harmless or honourable in themselves, he seemed then and through life as ever acting under the sense of a great responsibility, as of the requirements of Him “who gave his servants authority, and to every man his work.” Thus he instituted a school at Seville for children, reformed the course of practice at the hospitals, attended to the keeping of the public walks and grounds in good order, and was foremost in every case where charity called or good services were required. Artists and men of genius found in him a friend, who, by advice and other aid, was always ready to their call; and it was observed that his only passion was for the purchase of books and pictures, of which respectively he formed good collections.

On giving up his duties at Seville, Jovellanos travelled through Andalusia, and, as was his custom in all the places he visited, made notes of whatever useful information he could obtain respecting them, many of which were afterwards published in a topographical work he assisted in bringing forward. On arriving at Madrid, where his fame had preceded him, he was at once chosen member of the different learned societies, to several of which he rendered valuable services. At Seville he had already prepared a sketch of his great work, entitled “Agrarian Law,” in which he treated of the law and tenure of land, its cultivation, and other topics connected with it. This work he then published in an extended form, in which it has been reprinted several times, separately as well as in his collected works. In the several societies he also read many papers, one of which, “On Public Diversions,” deserves to be named particularly, as containing much curious information, as well as many excellent suggestions for public advantage, on points which statesmen would do well to remember more frequently than they are in the habit of doing.

On leaving Seville, Jovellanos regretted that he had to engage again in criminal cases, for which he had a natural aversion. After fulfilling these duties at Madrid a year and a half, he therefore sought another appointment, and obtained one in the Council of Military Orders, more agreeable to his inclinations. In this office it was his duty to attend to the affairs of the four military orders of Spain, and in his visits to their properties and other places on their behalf, he was entrusted with various commissions, which he fulfilled with his accustomed zeal. In those visits he had to go much to his native province, and he took advantage of his influence to make roads, which were much needed there, and the benefits of which he lived to see appreciated. He incited the members of the Patriotic Society of Oviedo, and others connected with the Asturias, to explore the mineral wealth of the country, rich in mines of coal and iron, then scarcely known. For the study of such pursuits he founded the Asturian Institute, and raised subscriptions to have two young men educated abroad in mathematics and mining, who were afterwards to teach those sciences at the Institute. Every day of his life indeed seems to have been employed on some object of public utility, or in studies connected with such objects; following the ancient maxim to do nothing trifling or imperfectly:—Μηδὲν ἐνέργημα εἰκῆ, μηδὲν ἄλλως ἢ κατὰ θεωρήμα συμπληρωτικὸν τῆς τέχνης ἐνεργεῖθω.

Though exact in the fulfilment of his official duties, and other various commissions entrusted to him by the government to report on the state of the provinces, it is wonderful to consider the industry with which he followed other pursuits. He studied botany and architecture, on which he wrote several treatises; and though each of those subjects would have been a sufficient task for ordinary men, to him they were only relaxations from his favourite science of political economy.

Bent on the promotion of law and other reforms in the state, he became connected with the Conde de Cabarrus, who, though a Frenchman by birth, had obtained high employments in Spain, and who, as a person of superior talent and discernment, was also convinced of the necessity of such measures. As too often is the case with able and honest statesmen, the Conde de Cabarrus fell, while attempting to effect these reforms, under the intrigues of his enemies, and Jovellanos became involved in his disgrace. He had been sent, in 1790, into the provinces in fulfilment of the duties of his office; when, having heard on the road of his friend’s ill fortune, he returned at once to offer him whatever assistance he might have in his power. He had, however, no sooner arrived in Madrid, where the Conde was under arrest, than, without being allowed to communicate with him, Jovellanos received a royal order to return immediately to his province.

The terms in which this order was conveyed convinced Jovellanos that he was to share in the disgrace of his friend, and to consider himself banished from court. He therefore proceeded philosophically to settle himself in his paternal abode with his brother, their father being now deceased, with his books and effects, and engaged in the improvement of their family estates. His expectations proved correct, as in this honourable exile he had to pass seven years, though not altogether unemployed, as he had several commissions entrusted to him similar to those he had previously discharged. But still Jovellanos, unbowed by political reverses, continued the same ardent promoter of public improvement. For the Asturian Institute, which he had founded for the purpose of teaching principally mineralogy and metallurgy, and which he personally superintended, he wrote his very able work on Public Instruction, and compiled elementary grammars of the French and English languages, in which he showed himself proficient to a degree truly astonishing.

In his official duties, having to go carefully in inspection over the Asturias and other neighbouring provinces, he noted his observations in diaries, which have been fortunately preserved, and which contain much valuable information. In these he has gathered all he could learn relative to the productions of the provinces, and the state in which he found them and the people, as embodied in his reports thereon to the government, with an account of the ancient remains and public buildings, making copies of whatever he found most interesting in the archives of the several convents, cathedrals and corporations. Some of these copies now possess a peculiar value, from the damages that have since accrued to many of the originals from time and the events of the subsequent wars.

If it were not for the disparagement of being considered in banishment, Jovellanos could have felt himself contented. He had not only honourable employment, as before stated, but he also received several notices of approbation from the government, especially as regarded the Institute, to which notices he perhaps paid a higher regard than they deserved. He seems himself to have felt this; for in one of his letters he writes—“I will not deny that I desire some public mark of appreciation by the government, to gain by it that kind of sanction which merit needs in the opinion of some weak minds. But I see that this is a vain suggestion, and that posterity will not judge me by my titles, but by my works.”

This was written on a rumour having reached Gijon of the probability of his being soon restored to favour at court. Those under whose intrigues he had fallen had now passed away in their turn: a favourite of a more powerful grade was in the ascendant, Godoy, the Prince of the Peace, to whose mind had been suggested the advisability of gathering round him persons of acknowledged probity and knowledge, for the support of his government. Jovellanos had returned home, in October 1797, from one of his journeys of inspection, when he found the whole town in a state of rejoicing. On inquiring the cause, he was told it was because news had been received of his nomination as ambassador to Russia. A few days afterwards the rejoicings were renewed, on the further intelligence of his being nominated a member of the government itself, as Minister of Grace and Justice.

In this office it might have been hoped that a happier career was before him; but evil fortune on the contrary now followed him, and more fatally than ever. His former banishment from court was owing to the endeavours he had made to remove those abuses into which all human institutions have a tendency to fall, rendering frequently necessary a correction of those abuses, to preserve what was most valuable in the institutions themselves. His next misfortune arose from personal differences with the reigning favourite, whose greater influence it was his error not to have perceived. Jovellanos had been restored to favour at the instance of Godoy; but as this was without his seeking, he felt himself under no obligation to maintain him as the head of the government, for which he was totally unfit. Jovellanos joined in an opposition to him, which for a short time succeeded in depriving Godoy of office. But his influence at court continued, and thus Jovellanos was in his turn dismissed, after holding the office of minister only about eight months, and ordered to return to Gijon.

Unhappily the favourite carried his resentment further; and Jovellanos was, on the 13th of March, 1801, arrested in his bed at an early hour of the morning, and sent as a prisoner through the country to Barcelona, thence to Mallorca, where first in the Carthusian convent, and afterwards in the castle of Bellver more strictly, he was closely confined, without any regard paid to his demands to know the accusation against him. Here his health was severely affected, as well as his feelings outraged, by the unjust treatment to which he was subjected. Still he was not one to sink under such evils. He was rather one of those “who, going through the valley of misery, make it a well.” He turned accordingly to the resources of literature, and employed himself in writing and translating from Latin and French several valuable treatises on architecture, and other works, on the history of the island, and of the convent, besides several poems, among which the Epistle to [Bermudez, his biographer], deserves particular notice.

Another work he then wrote is no less deserving of mention, showing the attention he had paid to English affairs, entitled “A Letter on English Architecture, and that called Gothic,” in which he treated of English architecture from the time of the Druids, dividing it into the Saxon, Gothic and modern periods. He describes the buildings according to the epochs, especially St. Paul’s and others of the seventeenth century, coming down to the picturesque style of gardening then adopted in England, with notices of the different sculptors, painters and engravers, as well as architects, and also of the authors who had written on the Fine Arts in England. This work has not been published, but Bermudez states he had the manuscript.

After being seven years a prisoner, Jovellanos was in 1808 released on the abdication of Charles IV. and the consequent fall of Godoy. This release was announced to him in terms of official brevity, and he replied by an earnest demand to be subjected to a trial, for the purpose of having the cause of his imprisonment made manifest. Before, however, an answer could be returned, Ferdinand had, under Napoleon’s dictation, also ceased to reign, and Jovellanos was called upon to take a prominent place in the intrusive government of king Joseph. This he could not be supposed from his antecedent character to be willing to accept. On the contrary, being chosen by the National party a member of the Central Junta, he engaged with his accustomed energy on the other side until the Regency was formed, principally under his influence, to carry on the struggles for independence.

On this being effected, Jovellanos wished to retire to his native city apart from public affairs. At his advanced age, with cataracts formed in his eyes, and after his laborious life and painful imprisonment, rest was necessary for him; but he could not attain it. One of his first efforts in the Central Junta was to draw up a paper on the form of government to be adopted, and this he strongly recommended to be founded as nearly as possible on the model of the English constitution. But he was far too enlightened for the race of men with whom he had to act, and his prepossessions for English institutions were made a reproach against him, observes the editor of the last edition of his works, even by those who were striving to introduce the principles of the Constituent Assembly into Spain.

The miserable intrigues and jealousies of the leading members of the National party caused Jovellanos much anxiety. But he had fulfilled his duties as a Deputy, and those having ceased, he left Cadiz in February, 1810, to return to the Asturias, in a small sailing vessel. After a long and dangerous passage, during which they were in great danger of shipwreck, they arrived at Muros in Galicia, in which province he had to remain more than a year, in consequence of the Asturias being in the possession of the French, to whom he had now become doubly obnoxious.

In July, 1811, however, the French having left that part of Spain, Jovellanos was enabled to return to his native city, where he was again received as he always had been with every token of popular respect. He seems to have been always looked upon there with undeviating favour and gratitude, as their most honourable citizen and public benefactor. No one knew of his coming, says his biographer, but he was observed to enter the church, and kneel before the altar near his family burying-place, when the whole town was roused simultaneously, and a spontaneous illumination of the houses took place, with other tokens of public congratulations and rejoicing.

Here he now hoped to have a peaceful asylum for his latter years, engaged in the objects of public utility for which he had formerly laboured. But those labours were to be begun again. His favourite “Asturian Institute,” which he truly said, in one of his discourses, was identified with his existence, had been totally dismantled and used for barracks by the French. Having obtained authority from the Regency to do so, he began to put the building again into repair, and collect together the teachers and scholars. Having done this, he announced by circulars that it would be reopened the 20th of November following, when the news of the French returning compelled him again to fly on the 6th of that month. He set sail in a miserable coasting vessel for Ribadeo, where a ship was ready to take him to Cadiz or England as he might desire, in virtue of instructions given by the Regency, and in accordance with the English government. But further misfortunes only awaited him. The vessel in which he had to take refuge was cast on shore in a storm near the small port of Vega, on the confines of Asturias; and there, worn out with fatigue, and under a pulmonary affection, brought on by exposure to the weather, he died the 27th of November, 1811, a few days after his landing.

The news of his death was spread rapidly through Spain, notwithstanding the interrupted state of communications, and was everywhere received with regret as a national calamity. Those who had opposed his views did justice to the uprightness of his motives and character; and the Cortes, now assembled, passed a decree, by which in favour of his patriotism and public services, he was declared Benemerito de la Patria. This beautiful and classical acknowledgement of his worth was then also remarkable as a novelty, though it has been since rendered less honourable, by being awarded to others little deserving of peculiar distinction.

The life of Jovellanos, as intimately connected with the history of his country, is well deserving of extended study. But our province is rather to consider him as a poet. Eminent as a statesman for unimpeachable integrity and for wise administration of justice, he carried prudent reforms into every department under his control, in which, though subjected to many attacks, he proved himself, by a memoir published shortly before his death, in justification of his public conduct, to have been fully warranted. This memoir, for heartfelt eloquence, deserves to be ranked with Burke’s Letter to the Duke of Bedford. Jovellanos has been compared by his countrymen to Cicero. A writer in the Foreign Quarterly Review has instituted an ingenious parallel between him and Montesquieu. With either, or with Burke, he may be observed to have possessed the philosophy and feeling, which give eloquence its chief value and effect.

As a prose writer, Jovellanos, for elegance of style and depth of thought, may be pronounced without a rival in Spanish literature. As a dramatist, he only gave the public a tragedy and comedy, both of which continue in much favour with the public. The latter, “The Honourable Delinquent” is particularly esteemed; but it is a melodrame rather than a comedy, according to our conceptions. It turns on the principal character having been forced into fighting a duel, and who, having killed his opponent, is sentenced to die; but after the usual suspenses receives a pardon from the king. There are several interesting scenes and much good writing in the piece; but no particular delineation of character, to bring it any more than the other into the higher class of dramatic art. It has, however, been observed, that it only needs to have been written in verse to make it a perfect performance, and this alone shows the hold it must have on the Spanish reader.

As a poet, Jovellanos is chiefly to be commemorated for his Satires. Two of these, in which he lashes the vices and follies of society at Madrid,—“girt with the silent crimes of capitals,”—are pronounced by the critic in the Madrid Review to be “highly finished” compositions. They were, in fact, the only poems he himself published, and those anonymously. With the strength of Juvenal, they have also his faults, and abound too much in local allusions to be suited for translation. In somewhat the same style were several epistles he addressed to different friends, of which the one written to his friend and biographer Bermudez has been chosen for this work, as most characteristic of the author. Like his other Satires, it is written in blank verse; which style, though not entirely unknown in Spain, he had the [merit of first bringing into favour]. He probably gained his predilection for it from his study of Milton, for whose works he had great admiration, and of whose Paradise Lost he translated the first book into Spanish verse.

The Epistle to Bermudez is remarkable as written with much earnestness, in censure not only of the common vices and follies of mankind, but in also going beyond ordinary satirists into the sphere of the moralist, to censure the faults of the learned. What our great modern preacher Dr. Chalmers has termed the “practical atheism” of the learned, was indeed the subject of rebuke from many English writers, as Young and Cowper, but may be looked for in vain in the works of others. Jovellanos had no doubt read the former, at least in the translation of his friend Escoiquiz, and meditated on the sentiment,—“An undevout astronomer is mad,” even if not in the original. It can scarcely be supposed that he was so well acquainted with English literature as to have read Cowper; but there are several passages in his Epistles of similar sentiments. The praise of wisdom especially, in the one to Bermudez,—by which we may understand, was meant the wisdom urged by the kingly preacher of Jerusalem, or the rule of conduct founded on right principles, in opposition to mere learning,—is also that of our Christian poet:—

Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one,

Have ofttimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells

In heads replete with thoughts of other men;

Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.

In his hours of leisure, Jovellanos employed himself in composing occasional verses at times, for the amusement of the society in which he lived, without thinking of their being ever sought for publication. These, however, have been lately gathered together with much industry and exactness in the last edition of his collected works, published by Mellado at Madrid in five volumes, 1845. As the last and fullest, it is also the best collection of them, four other editions of them previously published having been comparatively very deficient with regard to them. Besides those, there were various reprints of several others of his works, which were all received with much favour, both in Spain and abroad.

Jovellanos was never married, and in private life seems to have considered himself under the obligations of the profession for which he was originally intended. His character altogether is one to which it would be difficult to find a parallel, and is an honour to Spain as well as to Spanish literature. His virtues are now unreservedly admitted by all parties of his countrymen, who scarcely ever name him except with the epithet of the illustrious Jovellanos, to which designation he is indeed justly entitled, no less for his writings, than for his many public and private virtues and services to his country. These may be forgotten in the claims of other generations and succeeding statesmen; but his writings must ever remain to carry his memory wherever genius and worth can be duly appreciated.

The charge of writing a memoir of Jovellanos was entrusted by the Historical Society of Madrid to Cean Bermudez, who fulfilled it with affectionate zeal, Madrid, 1814; several other notices of his life have appeared in Spain, including that by Quintana, which has been copied by Wolf. The English reader will find an excellent one in the Foreign Quarterly Review, No. 10, February, 1830; and the Spanish scholar a further very eloquent encomium on his talents and merits in Quintana’s second Introduction to his collection of Spanish Poetry.

JOVELLANOS.

[EPISTLE TO CEAN BERMUDEZ], ON THE VAIN DESIRES AND STUDIES OF MEN.

Arise, Bermudo, bid thy soul beware:

Thee raging Fortune watches to ensnare;

And, lulling others’ hopes in dreams supine,

A fell assault she meditates on thine.

The cruel blow which suffer’d from her rage

Thy poor estate will not her wrath assuage,

Till from thy breast her fury may depose

The blissful calm to innocence it owes.

Such is her nature, that she loathes the sight

Of happiness for man in her despite.

Thus to thine eyes insidious she presents

The phantasies of good, with which she paints

The road to favour, and would fain employ

Her arts thy holds of virtue to destroy.

Ah! heed her not. See her to rob thee stand

Ev’n of the happiness now in thy hand.

’Tis not of her; she cannot it bestow:

She makes men fortunate;—but happy? No.

Thou think’st it strange! Dost thou the names confound

Of Fortune with felicity as bound?

Like the poor idiots, who so foolish gaze

On the vain gifts and joys which she displays,

So cunning to exchange for real good.

O cheat of human wisdom! say withstood,

What does she promise, but what beings born

To our high destiny should hold in scorn?

In reason’s balance her best offers weigh,

And see what worthless lightness they betray.

There are who, burning in the track of fame,

Wear themselves ruthless for a sounding name.

Buy it with blood, and fire, and ruin wide;

And if with horrid arm is death descried,

Waving his pennon as from some high tower,

Their hearts swell proud, and trampling fierce they scour

The field o’er brothers’ bodies as of foes!

Then sing a triumph, while in secret flows

The tear they shed as from an anguish’d heart.

Less lofty, but more cunning on his part,

Another sighs for ill-secure command:

With flatteries solicitously plann’d,

Follows the air of favour, and his pride

In adulation vile he serves to hide,

To exalt himself; and if he gain his end

His brow on all beneath will haughty bend;

And sleep, and joy, and inward peace, the price

To splendour of command, will sacrifice:

Yet fears the while, uncertain in his joy,

Lest should some turn of Fortune’s wheel destroy

His power in deep oblivion overthrown.

Another seeks, with equal ardour shown,

For lands, and gold in store. Ah! lands and gold,

With tears how water’d, gain’d with toils untold!

His thirst unquench’d, he hoards, invests, acquires;

But with his wealth increased are his desires;

And so much more he gains, for more will long:

Thus, key in hand, his coffers full among;

Yet poor he thinks himself, and learns to know

His state is poor, because he thinks it so.

Another like illusion his to roam

From wife and friends, who flying light and home,

To dedicate his vigils the long night

In secret haunts of play makes his delight,

With vile companions. Betwixt hope and fear

His anxious breast is fluctuating drear.

See, with a throbbing heart and trembling hand,

There he has placed his fortune, all to stand

Upon the turning of a die! ’Tis done:

The lot is cast; what is it? has he won?

Increased is his anxiety and care!

But if reverse, O Heaven! in deep despair,

O’erwhelm’d in ruin, he is doom’d to know

A life of infamy, or death of woe.

And is he happier, who distracted lies

A slave beneath the light of beauty’s eyes?

Who fascinated watches, haunts, and prays,

And at the cost of troubles vast essays,

’Mid doubts and fears, a fleeting joy to gain?

Love leads him not: his breast could ne’er profane

Admit Love’s purer flame; ’tis passion’s fire

Alone that draws him, and in wild desire

He blindly headlong follows in pursuit:

And what for all his toils can he compute?

If gain’d at length, he only finds the prize

Bring death and misery ev’n in pleasure’s guise.

Then look on him, abandon’d all to sloth,

Who vacant sees the hours pass long and loth

O’er his so useless life. He thinks them slow,

Alas! and wishes they would faster go.

He knows not how to employ them; in and out

He comes, and goes, and smokes, and strolls about,

To gossip; turns, returns, with constant stress

Wearying himself to fly from weariness.

But now retired, sleep half his life employs,

And fain would all the day, whose light annoys.

Fool! wouldst thou know the sweetness of repose?

Seek it in work. The soul fastidious grows

Ever in sloth, self-gnawing and oppress’d,

And finds its torment even in its rest.

But if to Bacchus and to Ceres given,

Before his table laid, from morn to even,

At ease he fills himself, as held in stall:

See him his stomach make his god, his all!

Nor earth nor sea suffice his appetite;

Ill-tongued and gluttonous the like unite:

With such he passes his vain days along,

In drunken routs obscene, with toast and song,

And jests and dissolute delights; his aim

To gorge unmeasured, riot without shame.

But soon with these begins to blunt and lose

Stomach and appetite: he finds refuse

Offended Nature, as insipid food,

The savours others delicacies view’d.

Vainly from either India he seeks

For stimulants; in vain from art bespeaks

Fresh sauces, which his palate will reject;

His longings heighten’d, but life’s vigour wreck’d;

And thus worn out in mid career the cost,

Before life ends he finds his senses lost.

O bitter pleasures! O, what madness sore

Is theirs who covet them, and such implore

Humbly before a lying deity!

How the perfidious goddess to agree

But mocks them! Though perhaps at first she smile,

Exempt from pain and misery the long while

She never leaves them, and in place of joy

Gives what they ask, with weariness to cloy.

If trusted, soon is found experience taught

What ill-foreseen condition they have sought.

Niggard their wishes ever to fulfil,

Fickle in favour, vacillating still,

Inconstant, cruel, she afflicts today,

And casts down headlong to distress a prey,

Whom yesterday she flatter’d to upraise:

And now another from the mire she sways

Exalted to the clouds; but raised in vain,

With louder noise to cast him down again.

Seest thou not there a countless multitude,

Thronging her temple round, and oft renew’d,

Seeking admittance, and to offer fraught

With horrid incense, for their idol brought?

Fly from her; let not the contagion find

The base example enter in thy mind.

Fly, and in virtue thy asylum seek

To make thee happy: trust the words I speak.

There is no purer happiness to gain

Than the sweet calm the just from her attain.

If in prosperity their fortunes glide,

She makes them free from arrogance and pride;

In mid estate be tranquil and content;

In adverse be resign’d whate’er the event:

Implacable, if Envy’s hurricane

O’erwhelm them in misfortunes, even then

She hastes to save them, and its rage control;

With lofty fortitude the nobler soul

Enduing faithful; and if raised to sight,

At length they find the just reward requite,

Say is there aught to hope for prize so great

As the immortal crown for which they wait?

But is this feeling then, I hear thee cry,

That elevates my soul to virtue high,

This anxious wish to investigate and know,

Is it blameworthy as those passions low?

Why not to that for happiness repair?

Wilt thou condemn it? No, who would so dare,

That right would learn his origin and end?

Knowledge and Virtue, sisters like, descend

From heaven to perfect man in nobleness;

And far removing him, Bermudo, yes!

From vice and error, they will make him free,

Approaching even to the Deity.

But seek them not, in that false path to go

Which cunning Fortune will to others show.

Where then? to Wisdom’s temple only haste;

There thou wilt find them. Her invoke; and traced,

See how she smiles! press forward; learn to use

The intercession of the kindly Muse

To make her be propitious. But beware,

That in her favour thou escape the snare,

The worship, which the vain adorer pays.

She never him propitiously surveys,

Who insolently seeking wealth or fame,

Burns impure incense on her altar’s flame.

Dost thou not see how many turn aside

From her of learning void, but full of pride?

Alas for him, who seeking truth, for aid

Embraces only a delusive shade!

In self conceit who venturing to confide,

Nor virtue gain’d, nor reason for his guide,

Leaves the right path, precipitate to stray

Where error’s glittering phantoms lead the way!

Can then the wise hope happiness to feel

In the chimæras sought with so much zeal?

Ah, no! they all are vanities and cheats!

See him, whom anxious still the morning greets,

Measuring the heavens, and of the stars that fly

The shining orbits! With a sleepless eye,

Hasty the night he reckons, and complains

Of the day’s light his labour that detains;

Again admires night’s wonders, but reflects

Ne’er on the hand that fashion’d and directs.

Beyond the moons of Uranus he bends

His gaze; beyond the Ship, the Bear, ascends:

But after all this, nothing more feels he:

He measures, calculates, but does not see

The heavens obeying their great Author’s will,

Whirling around all silent; robbing still

The hours from life, ungratefully so gone,

Till one to undeceive him soon draws on.

Another, careless of the stars, descries

The humble dust, to scan and analyse.

His microscope he grasps, and sets, and falls

On some poor atom; and a triumph calls,

If should the fool the magic instrument

Of life or motion slightest sign present,

Its form to notice, in the glass to pore,

What his deluded fancy saw before;

Yields to the cheat, and gives to matter base

The power, forgot the Lord of all to trace.

Thus raves the ingrate.

Another the meanwhile

To scrutinize pretends, in learning’s style,

The innate essence of the soul sublime.

How he dissects it, regulates in time!

As if it were a subtile fluid, known

To him its action, functions, strength and tone;

But his own weakness shows in this alone.

’Twas given to man to view the heavens on high,

But not in them the mysteries of the sky;

Yet boldly dares his reason penetrate

The darksome chaos, o’er it to dilate.

With staggering step, thus scorning heavenly light,

In error’s paths he wanders, lost in night.

Confused, but not made wise, he pores about,

Betwixt opinion wavering and doubt.

Seeking for light, and shadows doom’d to feel,

He ponders, studies, labours to unseal

The secret, and at length finds his advance;

The more he learns, how great his ignorance.

Of matter, form, or motion, or the soul,

Or moments that away incessant roll,

Or the unfathomable sea of space,

Without a sky, without a shore to trace,

Nothing he reaches, nothing comprehends,

Nor finds its origin, nor where it tends;

But only sinking, all absorb’d may see

In the abysses of eternity.

Perhaps, thence stepping more disorder’d yet,

He rushes his presumptuous flight to set

Ev’n to the throne of God! with his dim eyes

The Great Inscrutable to scrutinize;

Sounding the gulf immense, that circles round

The Deity, he ventures o’er its bound.

What can he gain in such a pathless course

But endless doubts, his ignorance the source?

He seeks, proposes, argues, thinking vain.

The ignorance that knew to raise, must fain

Be able to resolve them. Hast thou seen

Attempts that e’er have more audacious been?

What! shall an atom such as he excel

To comprehend the Incomprehensible?

Without more light than reason him assign’d,

The limits of immensity to find?

Infinity’s beginning, middle, end?

Dost Thou, Eternal Lord, then condescend

To admit man to Thy councils, or to be

With his poor reason in Thy sanctuary?

A task so great as this dost Thou confide

To his weak soul? ’Tis not so, be relied,

My friend. To know God in His works above,

To adore Him, melt in gratitude and love;

The blessings o’er thee lavish’d to confess,

To sing His glory, and His name to bless;—

Such be thy study, duty and employ;

And of thy life and reason such the joy.

Such is the course that should the wise essay,

While only fools will from it turn away.

Wouldst thou attain it? easy the emprise;

Perfect thy being, and thou wilt be wise:

Inform thy reason, that its aid impart

Thee truth eternal: purify thy heart,

To love and follow it: thy study make

Thyself, but seek thy Maker’s light to take:

There is high Wisdom’s fountain found alone:

There thou thy origin wilt find thee shown;

There in His glorious work to find the place

’Tis thine to occupy: there thou mayst trace

Thy lofty destiny, the crown declared

Of endless life, for virtue that’s prepared.

Bermudo, there ascend: there seek to find

That truth and virtue in the heavenly mind,

Which from His love and wisdom ever flow.

If elsewhere thou dost seek to find them, know,

That darkness only thou wilt have succeed,

In ignorance and error to mislead.

Thou of this love and wisdom mayst the rays

Discern in all His works, His power and praise

That tell around us, in the wondrous scale

Of high perfection which they all detail;

The order which they follow in the laws,

That bind and keep them, and that show their cause,

The ends of love and pity in their frame:

These their Creator’s goodness all proclaim.

Be this thy learning, this thy glory’s view;

If virtuous, thou art wise and happy too.

Virtue and truth are one, and in them bound

Alone may ever happiness be found.

And they can only, with a conscience pure,

Give to thy soul to enjoy it, peace secure;

True liberty in moderate desires,

And joy in all to do thy work requires;

To do well in content, and calmly free:

All else is wind and misery, vanity.

[TO GALATEA’S BIRD.]

O silly little bird! who now

On Galatea’s lap hast got,

My unrequited love allow

To envy thee thy lot.

Of the same lovely mistress both

Alike the captives bound are we;

But thou for thy misfortune loth,

Whilst I am willingly.

Thou restless in thy prison art,

Complaining ever of thy pains;

While I would kisses, on my part,

Ev’n lavish on my chains.

But, ah! how different treating us,

Has scornful Fate the lot assign’d!

With me she’s always tyrannous,

But with thee just as kind.

A thousand nights of torment borne,

A thousand days of martyrdom,

By thousand toils and pains, her scorn

I cannot overcome.

Inestimable happiness,

A mere caprice for thee has got;

So bathed in tears, in my distress,

I envy thee thy lot.

And there the while, with daring heel,

Thou tread’st in arrant confidence,

Without a heart or hope to feel,

Or instinct’s common sense.

In the embraces, which my thought,

Not even in its boldest vein,

Could scarce to hope for have been brought,

Presumptuous to attain.

[TO ENARDA.—I.]

Lovely Enarda! young and old

All quarrel with me daily:

Because I write to thee they scold,

Perhaps sweet verses gaily.

“A judge should be more grave,” they say,

As each my song accuses;

“From such pursuits should turn away

As trifling with the Muses.”

“How wofully you waste your time!”

Preach others; but, all slighting,

The more they scold, the more I rhyme;

Still I must keep on writing.

Enarda’s heart and mind to praise,

All others far excelling,

My rustic pipe its note shall raise,

In well-toned measures telling.

I wish, extolling to the skies,

Her beauty’s high perfection

To sing, and all her witcheries

Of feature and complexion:

With master pencil to portray

Her snowy neck and forehead,

And eyes that round so roguish play,

And lips like carmine florid.

And let the Catos go at will,

To where they most prefer it,

Who withering frowns and sneerings still

Give me for my demerit.

In spite of all, with wrinkled pate,

The censures each rehearses,

Enarda I will celebrate

For ever in my verses.

[TO ENARDA.—II.]

Cruel Enarda! all in vain,

In vain, thou view’st with joyful eyes

The tears that show my grief and pain,

Thyself exulting in my sighs.

The burning tears that bathe my cheek,

With watching shrunk, with sorrow pale,

Thy lightness and caprice bespeak,

Thy guilt and perfidy bewail.

Those signs of sorrow, on my face,

Are not the obsequies portray’d

Of a lost good, nor yet the trace

Of tribute to thy beauties paid.

They are the evidence alone

There fix’d thy falsehood to proclaim;

Of thy deceits the horror shown,

Of my delirium the shame.

I weep not now thy rigours o’er,

Nor feel regret, that lost to me

Are the returns, which false before

Thou gavest, or favours faithlessly.

I weep o’er my delusions blind;

I mourn the sacrifices made,

And incense to a god unkind

On an unworthy altar laid.

I weep the memory o’er debased

Of my captivity to mourn,

And all the weight and shame disgraced

Of such vile fetters to have borne.

Ever to my lorn mind return’d

Are thoughts of homage offer’d ill,

Disdains ill borne, affection spurn’d,

And sighs contemn’d, recurring still.

Then, ah, Enarda! all in vain

Thou think’st to please thee with my grief:

Love, who now looks on me again

With eyes of pity and relief,

A thousand times has me accost,

As thus my tears to censure now,

“To lose them thou hast nothing lost;

Poor creature! why then weepest thou?”

II.
TOMAS DE IRIARTE.

Of all the modern Spanish poets, Iriarte seems to have obtained for his writings the widest European reputation. He was born the 18th September 1750, at Teneriffe in the Canary Islands, where his family had been some time settled, though the name shows it to have been of Basque origin. His uncle, Juan de Iriarte, also a native of the same place, was one of the most learned men of his age, and to him the subject of this memoir was indebted for much of the knowledge he acquired, and means of attaining the eminence in literature he succeeded him in possessing. Juan de Iriarte had been partly educated in France, and had afterwards resided some time in England, so as to acquire a full knowledge of the language and literature of those countries. He was also a proficient in classical learning, and wrote Latin with great precision, as his writings, published by his nephew after his death, evince; Madrid, two volumes, 4to. 1774. Having been appointed keeper of the Royal Library at Madrid, he enriched it with many valuable works, in upwards of 2000 MSS. and 10,000 volumes. He was an active member of the Royal Spanish Academy, and one of the principal assistants in compiling the valuable dictionary and grammar published by that learned Society, as well as other works.

At the instance of this uncle, Tomas Iriarte went to Madrid in the beginning of 1764, when not yet fourteen years of age, and under that relative’s able guidance completed his studies, learning at the same time the English and other modern languages. He was already far advanced in a knowledge of classical literature, and it is stated that some Latin verses he wrote, on leaving his native place, showed such proficiency as to surprise his friends, and make them entertain great expectations of his future success. Some of his Latin compositions, published afterwards among his works, prove him to have been a scholar of very considerable acquirements. Classical literature does not seem in modern times to be much studied in Spain, and Iriarte is the only distinguished writer among the modern Spanish poets who can be pointed out as conspicuous for such attainments. Thus they have failed in apprehending one of the chief beauties of modern poetry, so remarkable in Milton and Byron, and our other great poets, who enrich their works with references that remind us of what had most delighted us in those of antiquity.

In 1771 his uncle died, and Tomas Iriarte, who had already been acting for him in one of his offices as Interpreter to the Government, was appointed to succeed him in it. He was afterwards, in 1776, appointed Keeper of the Archives of the Council of War; and these offices, with the charge of a paper under the influence of the government, seem to have been the only public employments he held. From one of his epistles, however, he appears to have succeeded to his uncle’s property, and thus to have had the means as also the leisure to give much of his time to the indulgence of literary tastes. He was very fond of paintings and of music, to which he showed his predilection, not only by his ability to play on several instruments, but also by writing a long didactic poem on the art, entitled ‘Musica.’ This he seems to have considered as giving him his principal claim to be ranked as a poet, though the world preferred his other writings.

When yet under twenty years of age, Iriarte had already appeared as a writer of plays, some of which met with considerable approbation. Of these it will be sufficient for us here to observe, that Moratin, the first great dramatic poet of Spain in modern times, pronounced one of them, ‘The Young Gentleman Pacified,’ to have been “the first original comedy the Spanish theatre had seen written according to the most essential rules dictated by philosophy and good criticism.”

Besides several original plays, Iriarte translated others from the French, from which language he also translated the ‘New Robinson’ of Campe, which passed through several editions. From Virgil he translated into Spanish verse the first four books of the Æneid, and from Horace the Epistle to the Pisos. These, though censured by some of his contemporaries so as to excite his anger, were altogether too superior to those attacks to have required the vindication of them he thought proper to publish. Horace seems to have been his favourite author; but he had not learned from him his philosophical equanimity, wherewith to pass over in silent endurance the minor miseries of life. Thus he allowed himself, throughout his short career, to be too much affected by those ungenerous attacks, which mediocrity is so apt to make on superior merit. The names of those censurers are now principally remembered by his notices of their writings; an honour, which men of genius, in their hours of irritation, too often confer on unworthy opponents. Thus a large portion of his collected works consists of these controversial notices, which, as usual in such cases, only impair the favourable effect produced by the remainder on the mind of the reader. Those works were first published in a collected form in six volumes, in 1786; afterwards in eight volumes, in 1805.

From Iriarte’s poetical epistles, which are eleven in number, he appears to have been a person of a very kindly disposition, as Quintana describes him, living in friendly intercourse with the principal literary characters of Spain, especially with the amiable and ill-fated Cadahalso, to whom, in one of those epistles, he dedicated his translations from Horace. The others also are mainly on personal topics, and display his character advantageously, though, as poetical compositions, they have not been received so favourably as some of his other works.

The fame of Iriarte may be said to rest on his literary fables, which have attained a popularity, both at home and abroad, equalled by few other works. They are eighty-two in number, and all original, having, as their title indicates, a special reference to literary questions, though they are also all sufficiently pointed to bear on those of ordinary life. Like Sir Joshua Reynolds’s Discourses on Painting, they convey general instructions to all, while professing an application to one particular pursuit. They are written with much vivacity and ease, yet with an appropriate terseness that adds to their effect. Martinez de la Rosa, equally eminent as a statesman, a poet and a critic, observes of them, that if he had not left compositions of any other class, they would have extended his reputation as a poet; and adds, “that they abound in beauties, though frequently wanting in poetical warmth, so as to recommend this valuable collection, unique in its class, as one of which Spanish literature has to be proud.”

Of these fables, first published in 1782, so many editions have appeared, that it would be a very difficult task to enumerate them. There is scarcely a provincial town in Spain, of any consequence, in which they have not been reprinted. Several editions have appeared in France, two in New York, and three in Boston, where they have been used in teaching Spanish. Several of the fables have been imitated by Florian, and translations have been made into other languages. Of these translations, one in French verse was published by M. Lanos, Paris, 1801, and another, in prose, by M. L’Homandie, ibid. 1804: into German they were translated by Bertuch, Leipzic, so early as 1788, and into Portuguese, by Velladoli, in 1801.

I am not aware of more than one edition of them in England, that published by Dulau, 1809; but there have been no fewer than three translations of them into English verse; first by Mr. Belfour, London, 1804, another by Mr. Andrews, ibid. 1835, and a third by Mr. Rockliff, ibid. 1851.

The same popularity attended another work which Iriarte prepared for the instruction of youth, named ‘Historical Lessons,’ published posthumously, about twenty editions of which have since appeared, principally from its having been adopted as a text-book for schools. Of this also an edition has been published in London by Boosey, and a translation into English. Iriarte’s industry appears to have been of the most practical character, and his endeavours were as wisely as they were unremittingly directed to make his countrymen wiser and better in their future generations. If a man’s worth may be estimated by such labours, few persons have ever lived who were so entitled to the gratitude of posterity, as few have ever effected so much as he did in the short career that was afforded him.

In private life, in the leisure allowed from his studies and duties, he indulged much, as has been already stated, in the recreation of music; and in praise and explanation of that favourite art he wrote his largest work, ‘Music,’ a didactic poem, in five cantos. Of this work, which was first published in 1780, the fifth separate edition appeared in 1805, since which I have not heard of any other. It has, however, had the good fortune to be translated into several foreign languages; into German by Bertuch, in 1789; into Italian by the Abbé Garzia, Venice, 1789; into French by Grainville, Paris, 1800; and into English by Mr. Belfour, London, 1807. The last-mentioned translation is made with much exactness and elegance into heroic verse; though, as the original had the fault usual to all didactic poems of not rising to any high poetical power, the translation must share the fault to at least an equal extent.

In the Italian version, a letter is quoted from the celebrated Metastasio, in which he speaks of the style of Iriarte’s poem as “so harmonious, perspicuous and easy, as to unite the precision of a treatise with the beauties common to poetry.” It is said also that Metastasio further pronounced the poem to be “not only excellent, but to be considered uncommon, in having successfully treated a subject so difficult, and apparently so little adapted to poetry.” It is to be observed that Iriarte had warmly eulogized Metastasio in the book, so as to merit the commendation. The first canto is confined to treating the subject artistically, and will therefore prove less to the taste of the general reader than the other cantos, which are of a more interesting character, and may be read with pleasure by persons who do not understand music as a science. The third canto especially is written with much spirit in its praise, as connected with devotion. The second canto treats of the passions as they may be expressed by music, including martial music. The fourth minutely discusses theatrical music, with its excellences and defects. The fifth explains it, as calculated for the amusement of societies, or individuals in solitude. The poem concludes with pointing out what ought to be the study of a good composer, and by a proposal for the establishment of an academy of music, or scientific body of musicians, anticipating the benefit to science that would result from such an institution.

This poem, the ‘Musica,’ and the Epistles, are written in a very favourite style of versification in Spain, denominated the Silva, which consists of lines of eleven syllables, varied occasionally with others of seven, rhyming at the pleasure of the writer. The ‘Literary Fables’ are written in various metres; Martinez de la Rosa observes in upwards of forty different kinds, appropriate to the characteristics of the subjects, which may be more perceptible to a native ear than to a foreigner’s. It is certainly true that this gives a variety to the work which is well suited to the purposes the author had in view. He was wise enough to know that truths hidden in the garb of fiction will often be felt effectually, where grave precepts would not avail,

Καὶ τοῦ τι καὶ Βρότων φρενὰς

Ὑπὲρ τὸν ἀληθῆ λόγον,

Δεδαιδαλμένοι ψεύδεσι ποικίλοις

Ἐξαπάτωντι μύθοι,

and thus conveyed his lessons in examples, with a moral, which could be quickly understood and easily remembered.

With regard to the objection made to these fables, that they are often deficient in poetical warmth or colouring, it may be observed that the subjects would scarcely admit of any. Iriarte was certainly a writer of more poetic taste than talent, and it must be acknowledged that his genius, judging by the works he left, was not one to soar to the higher flights of poetry. He felt this himself, as he intimates in his Epistle to his brother; and, choosing a subject like Music for a didactic poem, or writing familiar epistles on occasional subjects, did not give himself much scope for fancy, much less for passion. But as applied to the fables, the objection was unnecessary. If they deserved praise for their vivacity of style, that very circumstance, independent of the subjects, rendered them passionless, ἀπαθέστατα, as Longinus remarks, where stronger feelings could scarcely be brought into connexion with such discussions. The great difficulty in such cases is, when metres are chosen to suit the subject, abounding in pyrrhics, trochees, and such measures, as the same great critic adds, to guard, lest the sense be lost in too much regard to the sound, raising only attention to the rhythm, instead of exciting any feeling in the minds of the hearers.

Of the five fables chosen for translation, the two first were taken from Bouterwek, and the third on account of its having been particularly noticed by Martinez de la Rosa. The Epistle to his Brother was selected partly on account of its notices of other countries, as a foreigner’s judgement of them; and partly as being most characteristic of the writer, showing his tastes and dispositions more perhaps than the rest. The reader generally feels most interested in such parts of the works of favourite writers, especially when their private history gives the imagination a right to ask sympathy for their sufferings.

Nothing is to be found in Iriarte’s works to show any peculiar opinions on religion, though the tendency of his mind is everywhere clearly seen, as leading to freedom of thought, instead of subjection to dogmas. In his poem on Music, as already intimated, some devotional rather than free-thinking principles are developed; yet it is said that it was from a suspicion of his being affected by the French philosophy of the day he fell under the censure of the Inquisition, and was seized in 1786, and imprisoned three years in the dungeons of that institution. What was the particular offence imputed to him has not been stated. It could be no question of a political character, for he was in the employment of the government, and was amenable to it for any misdeeds. It probably was from some private cause, under the cloak of a question of faith, that he had to undergo this imprisonment, during which it is said he had to submit to severe penances before he could obtain his liberty. After he had obtained it, he returned to his studies and wrote further, a monologue, entitled ‘Guzman,’ and some Latin maccaronic verses on the bad taste of some writers then in vogue. But his spirits were no doubt broken down, as his health and strength were undermined; and thus it was that he died two years after, though his death was imputed to his sedentary habits and gout, the 17th of September, 1791, when he had just completed his forty-first year.

This untimely death was a serious loss to Spanish literature. With his great and varied acquirements and unremitting industry, the world might have expected still more valuable works from him, when, at the age of thirty-six, in the best period of a man’s existence for useful labours, he was cast into that dungeon, from which he seems to have been permitted to come out only to die. The last Auto da fe in Spain was celebrated in 1781; but the Inquisition had other victims whose sufferings were no less to be deplored, though not made known. If Iriarte was one, he had unquestionably the consciousness of being enabled to feel, though not dying “an aged man,” yet that in his comparatively short life, he had not lived in vain for his own good name, and the benefit of posterity.

TOMAS DE IRIARTE.

[EPISTLE TO DON DOMINGO DE IRIARTE], ON HIS TRAVELLING TO VARIOUS FOREIGN COURTS.

He who begins an instrument to play,

With some preludings, will examine well

How run the fingers, how the notes will swell,

And bow prepares, or breath for his essay;

Or if to write the careful penman’s aim,

He cuts and proves his pen, if broad or fine;

And the bold youths, to combat who incline,

Strike at the air, as trial of the game:

The dancer points his steps with practised pace;

The orator harangues with studied grace;

The gamester packs his cards the livelong day;

I thus a Sonnet, though worth nothing, trace,

Solely to exercise myself this way,

If prove the Muse propitious to my lay.

It seems to me, dear brother, that Apollo

A course divine now does not always follow,

Nor please to dictate verses of a tone,

Worthy a sponsor such as he to own;

But rather would be human, and prefer

To prose in rhymes of warmthless character;

Without the enthusiasm sublime of old,

And down the wings of Pegasus would fold,

Not to be borne in flight, but gently stroll’d.

You who forgetful of this court now seek

Those of the east and north to contemplate,

Forgive me, if in envy I may speak,

That to indulge it has allow’d you fate

The tasteful curiosity! to view

With joy the land, so famed and fortunate,

Which erst a Tully and a Maro knew,

To which Æmilius, Marius service paid,

Which Regulus and the Scipios obey’d.

Long would it be and idle to recall

The triumphs, with their blazonries unfurl’d,

Matchless of her, that once of Europe all

Was greater part, metropolis of the world.

I only ask of you, as you may read,

How in Avernus, destined to succeed,

Anchises show’d Æneas, in long line,

The illustrious shades of those, who were to shine

One day the glory of the Italian shore,

Now you, more favour’d than the Trojan chief,

Not in vain prophecy, but tried belief,

From what you see, by aid of history’s lore,

To admire the lofty state which Rome possess’d,

The which her ruins and remains attest.

From our Hispanian clime I cannot scan

With you the column of the Antonine,

The fane or obelisk of the Vatican,

Or the Capitol, and Mount Palatine;

I cannot see the churches, or the walls,

The bridges, arches, mausoleums, gates,

The aqueducts, palaces, and waterfalls,

The baths, the plazas, porticos, and halls,

The Coliseum’s, or the Circus’ fates;

But still the immortal writings ’tis for me,

Of Livy, Tacitus, Cicero, to see;

I see Lucretius, Pliny, Juvenal,

Augustus, Maro and Mæcenas all;

With their names is the soul exalted high,

Heroic worth and honour to descry;

And so much more that model imitates

A nation now, so much more to be gain’d,

Is seen it but to approach the lofty heights

Of splendour, wealth, fame, power, that Rome attain’d.

From the benignant lands that richly gleam

Beneath the Tiber’s fertilizing stream,

You next will pass, where borne as he arose,

Through colder realms the mighty Danube flows.

Girded in pleasant borders ’tis for you

The Austrian Vienna there to view;

To admire the monarch, warlike, good and wise,

With the magnanimous Prussian king who vies

An army brave and numerous to sway;

Chosen and hardy, forward to obey,

Whom as companions honour’d he rewards,

And not as slaves abased a lord regards.

There agriculture flourish you will see;

Public instruction is promoted free;

The arts extended rapidly and wide;

And these among, in culture and esteem,

That with which Orpheus tamed the furious pride

Of forest beasts, and cross’d the Lethe’s stream:

There all the tales of wonderful effect,

Of music’s art divine, with which are deck’d

The ancient Greek and Latin histories,

No longer will seem fables in your eyes,

When near you may applaud the loftiness,

The harmony, and the consonance sublime,

All that in varied symphonies to express

Has power the greatest master of our time;

Haydn the great, and merited his fame,

Whom to embrace I beg you in my name.

[But now the confines of the German land]

I see you leaving, for the distant strand

Of Britain’s isle your rapid course to take,

And tour political around to make.

There in the populous court, whose walls’ long side

Bathes the deep Thames in current vast and wide,

A nation’s image will before your eyes

In all things most extraordinary rise.

Not rich of old, but happy now we see

By totally unshackled industry.

A nation liberal, but ambitious too;

Phlegmatic, and yet active in its course;

Ingenuous, but its interests to pursue

Intent; humane, but haughty; and perforce

Whate’er it be, the cause it undertakes,

Just or unjust, defends without remorse,

And of all fear and danger scorn it makes.

There with inevitably great surprise,

What in no other country we may see,

You will behold to exert their energies

Men act and speak with perfect liberty.

The rapid fortune too you will admire

Which eloquence and valour there acquire;

Nor power to rob has wealth or noble birth

The premiums due to learning and to worth.

You will observe the hive-like multitude

Of diligent and able islanders,

Masters of commerce they have well pursued,

Which ne’er to want or slothfulness defers;

All in inventions useful occupied,

In manufactures, roads, schools, arsenals,

Experiments in books and hospitals,

And studies of the liberal arts to guide.

There you will know in fine what may attain

An education wise; the skilful mode

Of patriotic teaching, so to train

Private ambition, that it seek the road

Of public benefit alone to gain:

The recompense and acceptation just,

On which founds learning all its hope and trust;

And a wise government, whose constant aim

Is general good, and an eternal fame.

Midst others my reflections I would fain,

In some description worthy of the theme,

(If it were not beyond my powers) explain,

The varied scenes, enchantment all that seem,

Which the Parisian court on your return

Prepares, and offers you surprised to learn.

Polish’d emporium of Europe’s courts,

The which with noble spectacles invites,

With public recreations and resorts,

That give to life its solace and delights;

Brilliant assemblages! and these among,

The chief and most acceptable to gain,

Of all to this new Athens that belong,

To enjoy the fellowship of learned men;

With useful science, or with taste alone,

Who enlighten foreign nations, and their own.

But I, who from this narrow corner write,

In solitude, while shaking off the dust

From military archives, ill recite

What I, O travelling Secretary! trust

Yourself will better practically see,

Whilst I can only know in theory.

Continue then your journey on in health;

From tongue to tongue, from land to land proceed:

To be a statesman eminent your meed.

Acquire each day with joy your stores of wealth,

Of merit and instruction; I the while,

As fits my mediocrity obscure,

Will sing the praise of quiet from turmoil;

[Saying, as Seneca has said of yore;—]

“Let him, who power or honours would attain,

On the high court’s steep precipice remain.

I wish for peace, that solitude bestows,

Secluse to enjoy the blessings of repose.

To pass my life in silence be my fate,

Unnoticed by the noble, or the great:

That when my age, without vain noise or show,

Has reach’d the bounds allotted us below,

Though a plebeian only to pass by,

Perhaps I yet an aged man may die.

And this I do believe, no death of all

Than his more cruel can a man befall,

Who dying, by the world too truly known,

Is of himself most ignorant alone.”

[FABLES.]

THE BEAR, THE MONKEY AND THE HOG.

A Bear, with whom a Piedmontese

A wandering living made,

A dance he had not learn’d with ease,

On his two feet essay’d:

And, as he highly of it thought,

He to the Monkey cried,

“How’s that?” who, being better taught,

“’Tis very bad,” replied.

“I do believe,” rejoin’d the Bear,

“You little favour show:

For have I not a graceful air,

And step with ease to go?”

A Hog, that was beside them set,

Cried, “Bravo! good!” said he;

“A better dancer never yet

I saw, and ne’er shall see.”

On this the Bear, as if he turn’d

His thoughts within his mind,

With modest gesture seeming learn’d

A lesson thence to find.

“When blamed the Monkey, it was cause

Enough for doubting sad;

But when I have the hog’s applause,

It must be very bad!”

As treasured gift, let authors raise

This moral from my verse:

’Tis bad, when wise ones do not praise;

But when fools do, ’tis worse.

THE ASS AND THE FLUTE.

This little fable heard,

It good or ill may be;

But it has just occurr’d,

Thus accidentally.

Passing my abode,

Some fields adjoining me,

A big Ass on his road

Came accidentally;

And laid upon the spot,

A Flute he chanced to see,

Some shepherd had forgot,

There accidentally.

The animal in front,

To scan it nigh came he,

And snuffing loud as wont,

Blew accidentally.

The air it chanced around

The pipe went passing free,

And thus the Flute a sound

Gave accidentally.

“O! then,” exclaim’d the Ass,

“I know to play it fine;

And who for bad shall class

The music asinine?”

Without the rules of art,

Ev’n asses, we agree,

May once succeed in part,

Thus accidentally.

THE TWO RABBITS.

Some shrubs amidst to shun

The dogs he saw pursue,

I will not call it run,

But say a rabbit flew.

From out his hiding-place

A neighbour came to see,

And said, “Friend, wait a space:

What may the matter be?”

“What should it be?” he cried;

“I breathless came in fear,

Because that I espied

Two scoundrel greyhounds near.”

“Yes,” said the other, “far

I see them also there;

But those no greyhounds are!”

“What?”—“Setters, I’ll declare.”

“How, setters do you say?

My grandad just as much!

They are greyhounds, greyhounds, they;

I saw them plainly such.”

“They are setters; get along:

What know you of these matters?”—

“They are greyhounds; you are wrong:”—

“I tell you they are setters.”

The dogs while they engage

In these contentious habits,

Come up, and vent their rage

On my two thoughtless rabbits.

Who minor points affect,

So much about to quarrel,

And weightier things neglect,

Let them take the moral.

THE LAMB AND HIS TWO ADVISERS.

A farm there was, with a poultry-yard,

Where roved an old bantam about;

And laid at his ease, a pig was barr’d

In a sty close by without.

A lamb moreover was raised up there;

We know it does so befall:

Together in farms these animals fare,

And in good company all.

“Well, with your leave,” said the pig one day

To the lamb, “what a happy life!

And healthful too, to be sleeping away,

One’s time without cares or strife!

“I say there is nothing, as I am a pig,

Like sleeping, stretch’d out at ease;

Let the world go round with its whirligig,

And cares just as it may please.”

The other the contrary chanced to tell

The same little lamb, to take heed;

“Look, innocent! here, to live right well,

Sleep very little indeed.

“Summer or winter, early to rise

With the stars the practice seek;

For sleeping the senses stupefies,

And leaves you languid and weak.”

Confused, the poor lamb the counsels compares,

And cannot perceive in his mind,

That contrary each advising declares,

But how he himself is inclined.

And thus we find authors the practice make,

To hold, as infallibly true,

The rules they fancy themselves to take,

And in their own writings pursue.

THE FLINT AND THE STEEL.

Cruelly bent, it chanced the Flint

Ill-treated the Steel one day;

And wounding, gave it many a dint,

To draw its sparks away.

When laid aside, this angry cried

To that, “What would your value be

Without my help?” the Flint replied,

“As much as yours, sir, but for me.”

This lesson I write, my friends to incite;

Their talents, however great,

That they must study with them unite,

To duly cultivate.

The Flint gives light with the help of the Steel,

And study alone will talent reveal;

For neither suffice if found apart,

Whatever the talent or the art.

III.
JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES.

For a hundred years after the time of Calderon de la Barca, who died in 1687, there appeared in Spain no writer of sufficient merit to be classed among those eminent characters, who had done so much honour to Spanish literature in the seventeenth century. Verses were published in sufficient abundance, which found readers and even admirers, merely from the necessity the public felt of having something to read and to admire, as of the fashion of the day. But they were written with a perversion of taste and a deficiency of talent, which was truly astonishing, in the successors of such authors, as had immediately preceded them.

This depression of literature, however, could not be expected to continue long, among a people of such imaginative and deep passioned character as the Spanish, whose native genius was by far too buoyant, to be affected for any length of time by inferior models, even under dynastic influences. Accordingly, towards the end of the eighteenth century, it might have become apparent to an attentive observer, that another order of writers was about to be called forth, and that the nation was prepared to welcome the advent of true genius whenever it was to be recognized. Learned societies had been established throughout Spain; education on a sound basis had been sedulously promoted; and the country was wealthy, and sufficiently flourishing to give incitement to the arts, which are the attendants of public prosperity.

At this epoch appeared Melendez Valdes, the restorer of Spanish poetry, as his admirers with much justice termed him; who then showed by his writings, that the old inspiration of the national genius was yet capable of being revived in all its former grace and strength; and who by the influence of his example further roused the energies of other men of genius to follow in his steps.

This highly gifted poet was born the 11th of March, 1754, at Ribera del Fresno in the province of Estremadura, where his parents were of what was called noble families, and, what was more important, in respectable circumstances. The good disposition noticed in the son determined them to destine him for study, and to award him a becoming education. Thus, having learned the rudiments of Latin at home, he was sent to study philosophy, or what was called philosophy, at Madrid, under the charge of the Dominican Fathers of St. Thomas, where his application and advancement gained him the esteem of his tutors and fellow-pupils. Thence he was sent by his parents in 1770 to Segovia, to study with his only brother, who was private secretary to the bishop of that city, and with whom he was confirmed in that fondness for reading, and taste for acquiring books, which might be called the passion of his whole life. The bishop, who was a distant relation, pleased with his talents and inclination for study, sent him in 1772 to Salamanca, the alma mater of Spain, and assisted him to proceed in the study of law, in which he distinguished himself wherever he had an opportunity; so that, says his biographer, “appearing absorbed in the pursuit of that career, no one would have judged him the same young man, whose inclination for poetry and learning was soon after to place him at the head of the elegant literature of his country.”

Fortunately for Melendez, continues his biographer, there happened then to be at Salamanca Don Josè de Cadalso, “a man celebrated for extensive erudition, combined with more than ordinary talent for poetry and letters, and a zeal for the glory and advancement of his country, learned in the school, and under the inspiration of virtue. Generous and affable, always lively, and at times satirical without branching off into maliciousness, his conversation was kind and instructive, and his principles indulgent and steadfast.” This eminent individual, already well known in the literary world by several works published in 1772 and 1773, immediately recognized the value of Melendez: he took him to his house to live with him, showed him the beauties and defects of the older writers, taught him how to imitate them, and opened to him the road to become acquainted with the literature of the learned nations of Europe. “He afforded him an instruction yet more precious, in the beautiful example he gave him to love all writers of merit, to rise superior to envy, and to cultivate letters without degrading them by unworthy disputations. The eulogies Cadalso bestowed on his contemporaries are a public testimony of this noble character; and the works of Melendez, where there is not a single line detracting from the merit of any one, and his whole literary career, exempt from all attack, show how he profited by the lessons of his master.”

The Anacreontic style, in which Cadalso excelled, was also that first cultivated by Melendez; and the former, seeing the progress of his pupil, and the first efforts of his Muse, unreservedly acknowledged him his superior, and in prose and verse announced him as the restorer of good taste and the better studies of the University. This kindly union was maintained until the death of Cadalso, at the siege of Gibraltar; and the “Elegiac song of Melendez on this misfortune, will be, as long as the Spanish language endures, a monument of affection and gratitude, as well as an example of high and beautiful poetry.”

Beyond the instructions which he received from Cadalso, Melendez was aided by the example and counsels of other distinguished persons then residing at Salamanca, among whom were two, favourably known as writers of verse, [Iglesias and Gonzalez]. These, though they were soon eclipsed by the young poet, admitted him to their friendship. By the latter he was brought into communication with the illustrious Jovellanos, then Judge of the High Court at Seville; and between them soon was instituted a correspondence, which has been in great part preserved, though as yet unpublished; a valuable monument, says Quintana, in which are seen, “livingly portrayed, the candour, the modesty and virtuous feelings of the poet, the alternate progress of his studies, the different attempts in which he essayed his talents, and above all, the profound respect and almost idolatry with which he revered his Mæcenas. There may be seen how he employed his time and varied his tasks. At first he applied himself to Greek, and began to translate Homer and Theocritus into verse; but learning the immense difficulty of the undertaking, and not stimulated to it by the bent of his genius, he shortly abandoned it.”

He then dedicated himself to the English language and literature, for which he was said to have ever had an exceeding great predilection, observing, “that to the Essay on the Human Understanding, he should owe all his life the little he might know how to acquire.” As books came to his hands, he went on reading and forming his judgements upon them, the which he transmitted to his friend. Thus “by all the means in his power he endeavoured to acquire and increase that treasury of ideas, which so much contributes to perfection in the art of writing, and without which verses are nothing more than frivolous sounds.”

His application to study, however, soon proved more than his health and strength would permit. He was obliged to leave Salamanca, and repair to the banks of the Tormes, which he has made famous in song, and there, by long attention to the regimen imposed on him, he fortunately recovered. About this time his brother died in 1777, their parents having died previously; and Melendez suffered much grief, as might naturally be expected, on being thus left alone of his family, the more painful in his state of health. Jovellanos urged him to join him at Seville, but he declined the invitation, observing, that “the law of friendship itself, which commands us to avail ourselves of a friend in necessity, also commands that without it, we should not take advantage of his confidence.”

Study, to which he now returned to engage himself with more intensity than ever, was the best alleviant of his sorrow, and time as usual at length allayed it. “He then gave himself up to the reading and study of the English poets: Pope and Young enchanted him. Of the former, he said that four lines of his ‘Essay on Man’ were worth more, taught more, and deserved more praise than all his own compositions.” The latter he attempted to imitate, and in effect did so, in the poem on ‘Night and Solitude,’ but in remitting it to his friend, expressed with much feeling his sense of its deficiencies compared with the original. Thomson also he studied, and Gesner, in his lonely exercises by the Tormes, and acknowledged how much he was indebted to the former for many thoughts with which he subsequently enriched his pastoral poems.

Thus having prepared himself to appear before the literary world as a candidate for fame, an opportunity soon occurred for him to obtain distinction. The Spanish Academy had been proposing subjects for prizes, and then having given one for an Eclogue, ‘On the happiness of a country life,’ Melendez felt himself in his element, and sent in his Essay for the prize. This succeeded in receiving the first. The second was awarded to Iriarte, who showed his mortification on account of the preference, more sensibly than was becoming, under the circumstances.

In the following year, 1781, Melendez went to Madrid, where his friend Jovellanos had already been appointed Councillor of the Military Orders, when for the first time they met. Melendez was already in the road to fame, which his friend had foretold for him; and Jovellanos, delighted with the realization of his hopes and endeavours, received him into his house, introduced him to his society, and took every opportunity of advancing his interests. It was the custom of the Academy of San Fernando to give triennial celebrations, with much solemnity, for the distribution of prizes, when eloquence, poetry and music were tasked to do honour to the fine arts. One of these celebrations was about to take place; Jovellanos was engaged to pronounce a discourse, and Melendez was invited to exercise his genius on the same subject, as the first literary characters of preceding times had already given the example. Melendez acceded, and delivered accordingly his Ode on the Glory of the Arts, which was received with rapturous admiration, and ever since seems to have been considered his masterpiece.

In the midst of these successes, Melendez received the Professorship of Humanities in his University, and in the following year, 1782, proceeded to the degree of Licentiate, and in 1783 to that of Doctor of Law, having shortly before the last married a lady of one of the principal families of Salamanca. But as his professorship gave him little occupation, and his marriage no family, he remained free to continue his favourite studies.

In 1784, on the occasion of peace being made with England, and the birth of twin Infantes, to give hopes of secure succession to the throne, the city of Madrid prepared magnificent celebrations of rejoicings, and among the rest, a prize was proposed for the two best dramatic pieces that might be offered within sixty days, under the condition that they should be original, appropriate, and capable of theatrical pomp and ornament. Out of fifty-seven dramas that were offered, the prize was awarded to the one sent in by Melendez, ‘The Bridals of Comacho the Rich,’ a pastoral comedy, which, however, though abounding in poetical passages, was found on representation wanting in effect, so as to be coldly received on the stage, where it has not since been attempted.

This ill-success gave occasion to several detractors of Melendez to pour forth the effusions of envy or disappointment against him, to which he gave no other answer than by the publication of his poems in a collected form. This was in 1785; and the manner in which they were received, it could be said, had had no parallel in Spain. Four editions, of which three were furtive, were at once taken up, and all classes of persons seemed to have the book in hand, commenting on its excellences. The lovers of ancient poetry, who saw so happily renewed the graces of Garcilasso, of Leon and Herrera, and “even improved in taste and perfection,” saluted Melendez as the restorer of the Castillian Muses, and hailed the banishment of the prosaic style which had previously prevailed. The applauses extended beyond the kingdom, and found especially in Italy the admiration repeated, as well as in France and England, where several of the poems are said to have been imitated.

Great as was his success in literature, it was not enough provision for his daily needs, notwithstanding the help of his professorship; and Melendez accordingly applied for and obtained an office as a local judge at Zaragoza, of which he took possession in September 1789. The duties of this office were too onerous to admit of much study; but he was soon removed, in 1791, to the chancery of Valladolid, where he had more leisure, and where he remained till 1797, when he was appointed Fiscal of the Supreme Court at Madrid. During this time he wrote apparently little; but he prepared, and in 1797 published, another edition of his works with two additional volumes, enriched with many new poems, in which he “had elevated his genius to the height of his age;”—“descriptive passages of a superior order, elegies powerful and pathetic, odes grand and elevated, philosophic and moral discourses and epistles, in which he took alternately the tone of Pindar, of Homer, of Thomson, and of Pope, and drew from the Spanish lyre accents she had not previously learned.”

But notwithstanding the great merit of many of these poems, the biographer of Melendez had it to confess that this publication was not so favourably received as the first had been; and attempts to account for it partly by the circumstances of the times, and partly by what was new not being on the whole so finished and well-sustained in interest as his former poems. Some of them also met with decided disfavour; especially one, ‘The Fall of Lucifer,’ which showed that his genius was not of the severer cast calculated for graver and higher subjects allied to the epic, any more than to the dramatic. But the merits of Melendez in his own sphere are too great, and his fame is too well-founded to lose by acknowledgements which must be made in truth and justice. It is not improbable that he had been urged by his admirers to these attempts, to which his own inclinations would not have led him, and it might thus have been the easiness of his disposition that made him yield to suggestions which ended in failure.

In the prologue which he affixed to this edition, Melendez attempted to prove that poetic studies derogated nothing from the judicial dignity, and that they had no incompatibility with the duties and talents of a public man or man of business. But without following him or his biographer into such a discussion, we may concede the point so far, that any one undertaking responsible duties from the State, is bound to give them his best and undivided energies. If, however, he has any hours of leisure free from those responsibilities, it is surely only an extension of his duty for him to employ them in attempting to make his fellow-men wiser and better, or happier, in the manner most congenial to his disposition or talents. Melendez certainly had no need to exculpate himself in this respect, having been “long remembered at Zaragoza and Valladolid as a model of integrity and application, for his zeal in arranging amicably all disputations in his power, for his affability and frankness in listening to complaints, and for the humane and compassionate interest with which he visited the prisoners, accelerating their causes, and affording them assistance, with an inseparable adhesion to justice.” [It was for his detractors],—and Melendez had them, notwithstanding the amiability of his character and the superiority of his talents,—to make these objections, if they could have done so. His resorting to such apologies only gave the appearance of a consciousness of weakness, which was not becoming either in the one character or the other.

Shortly after the publication of this edition, Melendez went to Madrid to take possession of his new office. The advanced age of his predecessor in it had for some time prevented his due attention to its duties, so that Melendez had many arrears to dispose of in addition to the ordinary services, through all which he laboured with much assiduity and credit. But they were the last satisfactory events of his life, which was henceforth to be passed in reverses and misery. Yet at that time he seemed to be in the height of prosperity. Holding an elevated post under the government, of which his friend Jovellanos was a member, and respected both at home and abroad as one of the first literary characters of the age, he might have justly hoped to be free from any of the darker misfortunes of life. This exemption, however, was not to be his lot, serving under a despotic government, of which the head, Charles IV., was one of the weakest-minded of mortals, guided by a favourite such as Godoy. When Jovellanos fell under this favourite’s resentment, to make the blow inflicted on that illustrious individual more poignant, it was extended to others, whose only fault was that they shared his esteem. Melendez was ordered away from Madrid within twenty-four hours, though his friends procured for him soon after a commission from the government as inspector of barracks at Medina del Campo, where he gave himself up again to study and such duties as were assigned him. Beyond these, however, he particularly exerted himself, it is recorded, in attending to the sick at the hospitals, providing that they should not be sent out into the world, as had often been previously the case, imperfectly cured or clothed, and unable to effect their livelihood.

In this humble occupation he might have been supposed exempt at least from further malignity, but unfortunately some sycophant of power thought it would be pleasing to the favourite to have a frivolous accusation forwarded against him, which had the effect of his being sent on half salary to Zamora. There he was fortunate enough to have the intrigues against him made known, and in June 1802, he received a royal order to have his full salary allowed, with liberty to reside where he pleased. He would have preferred Madrid, but he found it most prudent to return to Salamanca, and there, arranging his house and library, began to enjoy a more peaceful life than what he had passed since he left the University.

The literary world might now have hoped for further efforts of genius in this asylum, and perhaps some superior work worthy of his talents and fame; but his spirits had been broken down by adversity and injustice, and his attention was distracted by hopes and fears, from which he could never free himself. A poem on Creation, and a translation of the Æneid, were the fruits of six years’ retirement from the world; and he proposed another edition of his works, which however he did not accomplish, on the rapid succession of events which again called him forth to a short period of active life, and subsequent years of suffering.

The revolution of Aranjuez brought Melendez to Madrid, in the hopes of recovering his former employments; but in the troubled state of the country, he soon wished to return to his house, without being able to effect it. The French had now made themselves masters of the capital, and Melendez was unfortunately induced to take office under them. This conduct was contrary, not only to the course taken by Jovellanos and his other friends, but also to the whole tenor of his former life and opinions. His easy temper, which had at all times led him submissive to the wishes of those who had his confidence, no doubt on this occasion had been influenced by persons near him, and he might have thought it a hopeless struggle to contend with Napoleon.

Having however engaged in this unpatriotic service, he was sent as a commissioner, on the part of the intrusive government, to the Asturias, where the people had already risen in vindication of the national independence. Melendez and his colleague were seized by the populace, notwithstanding the efforts of the local authorities, who had placed them for security in the prison, the doors of which were forced, and they were led out to be put to death. All entreaties were in vain. Melendez protested his attachment to the national cause, and even began reciting some patriotic verses he had been writing, but the excited multitude would not hear him. They added insults to menaces, and as a great favour only permitted them to confess before they should be executed. Thus a little time was gained; but this was at length concluded and they were tied to a tree, and the party prepared to shoot them, when a dispute arose whether they should be shot from in front or behind as traitors, a piece of etiquette in such cases considered of importance. The latter counsel prevailed, and the prisoners had to be loosened and tied again accordingly, when the authorities and religious orders of the place, with a particular Cross famous among them, appeared approaching for their rescue. The people hereon became calmed, and Melendez and his colleague were taken back to the prison, whence they were soon permitted to return to Madrid.

On the success of the Spanish army at Bailen, the French retired from the capital, and Melendez remained at Madrid, hoping, through the influence of Jovellanos, to be taken into favour with the constitutional party. But fortune again seemed to side with the French, and they returned to Madrid, when Melendez was again induced to join them, and accepted office as Councillor of State and President of a Board of Public Instruction. Thus he inevitably compromised himself in a cause which was not that of his heart or principles, and whose apparently irresistible strength could only have excused his adhesion to it. This supposition, however, also proved erroneous; and when the French armies had to abandon Spain, Melendez, with their other principal adherents, had to fly with them also, having had the further misfortune to have his house plundered, and his valuable library destroyed, by the very marauders for whose sake he had lost all his hopes of the future at home.

Before entering France, Melendez, kneeling down, kissed the Spanish soil, saying, “I shall not return to tread thee again.” His apprehensions, notwithstanding his anxiety to do so, proved correct. He passed four years in France, residing at Toulouse, Montpelier, Nismes and Alaix, as circumstances compelled him, in great privation and with bodily sufferings, the more aggravating, in his advanced age, the bitter remembrances of the past. A paralytic affection first incapacitated him from all exertion, and finally, an apoplectic attack terminated his existence, at Montpelier, on the 24th May, 1817, in the arms of his wife, who had followed him through all the vicissitudes of life, and surrounded by the companions of his exile. A monument was afterwards placed to his memory in the cemetery by [the Duke de Frias].

Notwithstanding the indecision of his character in public life, Melendez was in private remarkable for laborious application to his studies and duties. His reading was immense, and his desire unceasing to be useful, and to contribute, by all the means in his power, to the well-being of his fellows. His kindness of heart is conspicuous in all his writings, which also portray the diffidence of his own powers, ascribed to him by his biographer.

His principal objects of veneration seem to have been the writings of Newton and Locke. The former, as the “Great Newton,” is often named by him. Pope he took for his model avowedly in poetry, and he strove to imitate the moral and philosophic tone of that great poet’s writings, whose elegance of style he certainly rivalled. Nothing in Spanish verse had been ever produced to equal the sweetness of his verses, their easy tone, and sparkling thoughts and expression. He was much attached to drawing, but had no inclination for music, not even to the charms of song, the more singular in one whose ear for the melody of verse appears to have been so sensitive. To the very last he seems to have been endeavouring to improve his poems, which have been thus observed to have often lost in strength and expression what they gained in cadence.

“The principles of his philosophy were benevolence and toleration; and he belonged to that race of philanthropists who hope for the progressive amelioration of the human race, and the advent of a period, when civilization, or the empire of the understanding, extended over the earth, will give men that grade of perfection and felicity compatible with the faculties and the existence of each individual. Such are the manifestations of his philosophic poems, and such a state he endeavoured to aid in producing by his talents and labours.”

His influence as a poet has certainly been very great. All the writers in Spain, who immediately succeeded him, especially Quintana, showed evident proofs of having profited by the lessons his example gave them, and those lessons seem to have sunk deeply into the minds of successive generations, so as to leave no doubt of their continuing in the same course.

After his arrival in France, Melendez wrote a few short poems, which, notwithstanding his age and failing health, showed his spirit was still the same, and his imagination as lively as ever. At Nismes he prepared an edition of his works, which the Spanish government published at their cost after his death, when they also gave his widow the pension allotted for her, as according to her husband’s former rank. This edition has been the one subsequently several times reprinted, with a biography by the eminent Quintana, worthy of himself and of his master. The prologue to it, by Melendez, is very interesting, and from it we learn, with regret, that upon the destruction of his library, “the most choice and varied he had ever seen belonging to a private individual, in the formation of which he had expended a great part of his patrimony and all his literary life,” he had lost what he considered some of his best poems, and some tracts, in prose, which he had prepared for the press, on Legislation, on Civil Economy, the Criminal Laws, on Prisons, Mendicancy and other subjects.

The misfortunes of Melendez were certainly much to be lamented, but throughout them he could unquestionably console himself with the conviction of having been actuated ever by upright motives, and of leaving to his country an imperishable name. His literary career had been an eminently successful one, and he had felt the full enjoyment of fame. In the prologue, above mentioned, he refers very feelingly to the reverses to which he had been subjected, but also with apparent satisfaction to the various editions and notices of his works, published both in Spain and abroad.

In leaving revised his works, published afterwards by the government, Madrid 1820, Melendez left also this positive direction: “Although I have composed many other poems, these appear to me the least imperfect, and I therefore forbid the others to be reprinted under any pretext. I earnestly request this of the editor, and expect it of his probity and good feeling, that he will fulfil this, my will, in every respect.” In accordance with this request, many of his earlier works have been, with much propriety, omitted, and the remainder have been considerably corrected; at the same time that a great number of poems are added, that had not been previously published. The [best edition of his works is that by Salva], Paris 1832.

Melendez enjoyed in his day a higher reputation than readers at present are willing to concede him, comparing him with the other poets that have since appeared in Spain. But the merits of writers should be considered, in justice, relatively only to those who have preceded them, and by this standard he is certainly fully entitled to the eulogiums which his contemporaries awarded him.

MELENDEZ VALDES.

[JUVENILITIES.]

When I was yet a child,

A child Dorila too,

To gather there the flowerets wild,

We roved the forest through.

And gaily garlands then,

With passing skill display’d,

To crown us both, in childish vein,

Her little fingers made.

And thus our joys to share,

In such our thoughts and play,

We pass’d along, a happy pair,

The hours and days away.

But ev’n in sports like these,

Soon age came hurrying by!

And of our innocence the ease

Malicious seem’d to fly.

I knew not how it was,

To see me she would smile;

And but to speak to her would cause

Me pleasure strange the while.

Then beat my heart the more,

When flowers to her I brought;

And she, to wreathe them as before,

Seem’d silent, lost in thought.

One evening after this

We saw two turtle-doves,

With trembling throat, who, wrapt in bliss,

Were wooing in their loves.

In manifest delight,

With wings and feathers bow’d,