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Never again that interchange of looks,
The key-note of two souls in unison.
“Out! puling mourner,” cries the moralist :
“ Is it a 'crumpled rose-leaf in thy path'
O'er which thou wailest ?-what is youth and love ?-
Hast thou not in thee something more than these-
Thy soul, immortal, indestructible ? ”
The words are but too true; though 'tis no “ leaf ;"
'Tis the whole flower I mourn, and mourn alone.
A young rose, dewy, budding in the morn-
I weep its fragrance lost, its beauty gone.
Life without love is naught,—’tis even as
The body without soul-a fleshy case
To carry aches and pains in. Soon will come
The first white hair, the harbinger of change,
To say, Time is, Time was, and Time is past.
Ay, past ; for, love extinct, our life remains
(As 'twere a hearth where fire had blazed anon)
In ashes, and my youth is left to me
Like a pressed violet in a folded book;
A remnant of its fragrance breathing still,
To tell of spring-time past, ne'er to return.

Last May I roved with her into the woods :
The winter season o'er, the tender buds
Were shooting on the ash; the scent of Spring
Was round us, over us, and in our hearts;
The firmament a tender turquoise blue;
The cushat-dove was cooing in the grove;
All nature seemed as wooing, where we strayed
Along the sylvan glade. We passed the cairn,
The old grey, lichen-covered, mossy stones,
Where conies sport and graze, and at the foot
Of a tall chestnut-tree, upon a couch
Bedecked with primroses and branching ferns
(I at her feet), we sate. Anon there came
Athwart the thick and leafy canopy
Above us spread (now rich with vernal bloom),
A golden sunbeam, whose bright quivering ray,
Touching her brow with living amber glow,
And glancing on her deep, dark, liquid eyes,
Well-springs of truth and maiden purity-

Who calls ? “Good brother, you are new as yet ;
'Tis time for matins. All the brotherhood
Are now assembled, and the Prior waits :
Will't please you come ?




On Mona's desolate shore, in a cavern well, loves me no more, nor seemeth to by the sea, there dwelt long ages ago heed me, and I have given him my the last of the Druids. None knew father's crown, and loved him with my whence he came or how long he had whole heart. What must I do to lived there alone; some said it was for awaken his love ?a hundred years, and others that it was And the second suppliant spake and for a time far beyond the age of man, said :and that the Druid was no other than “O Druid ! I am a knight and I loved Merlin himself, who had seen Arthur a lady who once gave me her troth; and die, and had dwelt in the halls of I have borne it on my helm through Caerleon, and worshipped in yet re- many a bloody field, and I have brought moter time in the sun-temple of Stone- her back glory and fame ; yet she loves henge. Men and women travelled far me no more. What must I do to awaken to visit the solitary cavern where the her love?” Druid dwelt, and to ask him to reveal And the third suppliant spake and to them the mysteries of life and death; said :and kings came to consult him regarding “O Druid ! I am a rich man, and I war and the polity of states, and priests loved my brother, and divided with asked him concerning eternal things; him my lands and gold ; but he loves and to all of them the Druid made re- me no more. What must I do to awaken sponse, and his words were wise and his love ?”. deep, and were treasured in many souls. And the fourth suppliant spake and

Now it came to pass one evening in said :the later autumn, when the air was still “O Druid ! I am a bard, and I loved and shrouded, and the sere leaves were not one man only, but all the good and slowly dropping from the trees, and the wise, and I poured out my soul in song; salt green sea cast its tribute of wrack but they loved me not, nor responded to and shells at the door of the Druid's my words. What must I do to awaker cave, that there came up together from their love ?” different lands many suppliants, and And the fifth suppliant spake and they all entered into the cavern to en- said :-treat the seer to answer their questions “O Druid ! I am a seeker of knowand give them counsel. And behold ledge, and I love my race, and have imthe Druid sat on a stone in the depths parted to them the truths I have read of the cave, and the red firelight shone in the stars and gathered from the ends on his white raiment, and his hair and of the earth; but they love me not, nor beard were white as snow, but his eye regard my lessons. What must I do to was blue and calm and sweet, and none awaken their love ?who looked on him felt any more fear. And the sixth suppliant spake and And the suppliants drew near and saluted said :him reverently; and he bowed his head “O Druid ! I am not great, nor wise, in token that they should speak, and nor rich, nor beautiful ; I am but a poor each of them in turn spake; and the maiden, and I love not only the good first said unto him :

and learned, but also the weak and the “0 Druid ! I am a queen of far-off ignorant, and I give them all my tears, islands, and my king, who loved me and all my life ; but they love me not,

and, because they love me not, I cannot serve them as I would. What must I do to awaken their love ?

And the seventh suppliant spake and said :

“O Druid ! I am a mother, and I love my only son; and I had no crown, or honour, or lands, or art, or wisdom, to give him ; but I gave him what was more precious than them alla mother's love. Yet he loves me not. What must I do to awaken his love ?”

Then the seven suppliants stood silent, and the Druid sat still for a little space. And the night had fallen while they spake, and the fire had burned low, and the cave of the Druid was dark. And it came to pass, as they waited patiently that the depth of the cavern seemed to become light, as if a luminous mist were filling it. And, as they gazed at the mist, behold ! as if reclining on clouds, lay a form as of a beautiful youth, more beautiful than any of the children of men; and he lay asleep. And the Druid spake to the suppliants and said :— “Behold now, and see how Love sleepeth; and how heavy are his slumbers; and who is he that shall awaken him ?" And lo'! there came through the mist a train of beautiful forms, and

each of them passed by the couch of Love, and strove to waken him with kisses and with tears. And some tried hollow smiles, though their eyes were dim; and others were seen to wring their hands and kneel at his feet in agony; and others brought him crowns, and sceptres, and gold, and gems, and stars of honour, and wreaths of fame, and they cried with exceeding bitter cries, “O Love, awake! awake !" But Love slumbered on, nor heeded any, and his sleep was unbroken alike by their kisses, or gifts, or tears.

T hen there came forth from the mist another form, pale and cold, and dressed in the cerements of the grave; and it passed slowly nearer and nearer to the couch, till its shadow fell like the shadow of a cloud over Love as he slept.

Then Love sprang up with a wild and terrible cry, and held forth his arms for those to return who had striven to waken him so long, but who now were passed away beyond his reach for ever. And the Druid turned mournfully to the suppliants and said :-“Only this solace have I for your aching hearts, SLEEPING LOVE WILL WAKEN WHEN OVER HIN FALLS THE SHADOW OF DEATH !”



PART I. HAPPENING last autumn to make a short stay in the Riviera, one of my first thoughts was to go and pay a visit to Sanremo. I never fail to do so when I am in the neighbourhood.

I am very fond of Sanremo. I hope you have already an acquaintance with it; if not, let me tell you that it is as lovely a bit of land as any that graces the lovely western Riviera of Genoa; full at all seasons of sun, of warmth, of colour, of palm, and lemon, and orange trees. Ariosto had Sanremo in his mind

when, describing the voyage of Gano's galley, he brings it in sight of,

..."i monti Ligustici, e Riviera
Che con aranci e sempre verdi mirti,
Quasi avendo perpetua primavera,

Sparge per l'aria í bene olenti spirti.” Sanremo's patent of beauty, you see, does not date from yesterday, nor is it signed by an obscure name. Between you and me, the verses quoted above are not among the most felicitous of the poet, but they are to the point, and therefore I transcribe them. What greater praise can be bestowed upon any spot than to say that it enjoys a perpetual

spring? By-the-bye, do not look for As for the joys which I found at my quotation in the pages of the far- Sanremo—our stay there varied from a famed Orlando Furioso, but rather in minimum of two to a maximum of four the first of the less-known Cinque Canti, days--at this distance of time I am which Ariosto intended as a continuation sorely puzzled to determine the elements of his celebrated poem.

of which they were composed. The Sanremo was the first romance of my palms certainly must have been one of boyhood. To it I owe some of the the principal—the palms, the sight of strongest and pleasantest emotions of which stirred within me all the poetic my young life. My uncle, the canon, feelings of which I was possessed—the had a friend there, to whom he occasion- palms, on which I doated. As for the ally paid a visit, taking me with him. rest of the components of my happiness, Now from Taggia to Sanremo it is only they were most likely the excitement of an hour-and-a-half's drive; but such was novelty, the break in a dreary routine, the fuss made about it, and the time of the exemption from all scholastic tasks, it, and the mode of it—so multifarious and a quant. suf. of liberty of movewere the conditions to which its realiza- ment. Had the picturesqueness of the tion was subjected—that it could not but landscape, the glorious expanse of the assume very remarkable proportions in sea, the soft mellowness of the air, anythe rather excitable imagination of a thing to do with my enjoyment of Sanboy of eight years old. Indeed, had I remo? I suppose they had, though I had to cross the great Desert, I could might not be conscious of it; the condinot have set out with a keener sense of tions of climate, and the natural beauties travelling in right earnest, that delight of the cosy valley close by—myteniporary of all delights at my age, than I did on home_were too little inferior, if so at these occasions, especially the first two all, to those of Sanremo, for me to feel or three of them. Habit lessened, but the difference; and, as to the sea, of which did not wear out the impression.

we had only a distant glimpse from our Each of the trips formed quite an house, it was too familiar an object to epoch in my life. I dreamed of nothing the eyes of one born and brought up in else for a whole fortnight previous— a sea-port town, to produce any overand oh! how my heart would leap into powering impression on me. I took it my mouth at every cloud that rose on for granted, in my innocence, that the the sky, lest it might interfere with our whole world was made in the same starting; and I dreamed of nothing else image as our infinitesimal one. It was for a whole fortnight after. I can still only after a long tasting of the piercing imagine what must have been the pe- fogs of the Thames, and of the bitter culiar joys of the road—the glory of a blasts of the Seine, that, restored to the seat by the side of Bacciccin, the vettu- land of the myrtle and orange-tree, the rino—a glory bought at the price of a boy, now a mature man, could appreciate fib (the fib that I felt sick inside); then thoroughly the blessings of these mild the possession of the aforesaid Bacciccin's Italian skies, and sunny bowers, where whip, and the consequent sweet delusion winter is only a name, and where, if one that I was really driving; the patronizing was wise, one ought to settle, and refresh of the respectful peasant boys, who ac- both body and mind during at least six knowledged mysuperiority as they passed, months of the year, and the pulling faces at the disrespectful Would I might say that I had been ones, who refused any such homage—nay, that wise man, as I should now be spared who dared to make fun of me; and last, the mortification of confessing that my not least, the trying my skill in making last visit to Sanremo dates as far back ducks and drakes in the sea during the fre- as 1857, full seven years ago ! The fact quenthalts of Bacciccin, who was continu- is, we do not shape our lives : force of ally struggling tomend the harness, which circumstances and habit do it for us, not was continually breaking, and such like rarely at the cost of our own inclinations;

thus we arrive at the end of our journey with a sense of bitter wonderment at not having chosen better the stages of it

Be this as it may, the Sanremo I visited in 1857 had as much improved on that of my boyhood, as the Sanremo of 1864 has improved on that of 1857. Wonderful, is it not, that the little town should have found seven years suffice for a stride forwards, to accomplish the like of which had previously cost her a period equal to that of the wandering of the Jews after their escape from bondage ! Surely, to account for this result, there must have been something else at work besides the law of progress, some strong impellent motive. And it was so.

Have you never seen a beauty, strong in her native charms, disdain the aid of all ornaments so long as her heart is yet silent ? Well, see that same beauty the moment her heart has spoken, and you will find her abounding in devices for pleasing. This was the case with Sanremo. Her heart, yet mute in 1857, suddenly began to speak in the following year, or thereabouts, and she grew coquettish at once. Yes, Sanremo fell in love with .... But I am betraying a secret before the proper time.

Let us return instead to the Sanremo of 1857. The change which struck me most was its new approach. Formerly you entered it by a narrow, irregular road; now it was by what the French would call a broad boulevart, running parallel to the sea, through the whole length of the town. The fashionables of the locality had chosen it, as well they might, for their favourite walk. But even the word boulevart does not give a just idea of its charms. Who knows of another boulevart flanked on both sides by such gardens as flourish there !--smiled upon by such a sky and sea as shine and sparkle there !-and which wears in its cap two such fine feathers as the two secular palm-trees waving yonder ! Therefore allow me to say that the entrance, or boulevart, of Sanremo is indeed worth looking at.

The other welcome novelty which gladdened my eyes was a handsome new

street, which, starting at right angles from the Boulevart of the Palms, goes straight towards the sea. The Sanremaschi have called it Via Gioberti—one of those excellent ideas which carry along with them their reward, for by doing honour to the memory of a great Italian they have done honour to themselves. I noticed, too, with pleasure, a good sprinkle of freshly-built houses- I was almost tempted to call them palaces, they were so large and handsome. Some were already finished, some only in course of construction. I remarked one, if not two caffès, of which I had no recollection; they seemed as clean as they were smart. Most of the shops looked as if they had lately adopted the habit of washing their faces : some few aimed even at elegance. The town had gained an unknown aspect of cleanliness—relative cleanliness, you understand.

But as to hotels it had remained sadly stationary ; which, after all, was quite as it ought to be. At the time of which I am speaking, Sanremo was not yet in love--consequently had no desire to please anybody but itself. The improvements which it had realized had had exclusively in view its own comfort and pleasure, and not that of others; now, what could it care about hotels, to which it never went ?

S o the only hotel of Sanremo continued to be that kept by Signora Angelinin, the hotel “della Palma”-that very same, with the exception of some few microscopic changes for the better, to which in times of yore I had more than once accompanied my uncle, the canon, not to take up our quarters there, but to pay a visit to the landlady. The most that could be said in behalf of the hotel “della Palma" was, that it was decent. One certainly would not have chosen it as a place of abode for any length of time; but the traveller detained by business or stress of weather might easily have passed a week or so there, without being too much to be pitied. The cooking department of “ La Palma " enjoyed a well-deserved renown, and Signora Angelinin had the reputation of

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