As the magnet charts the sea,
May thy pure star glowing o'er us
Point the path to Heaven and Thee!

GIACOMO DA VALENCIA; OR, THE STUDENT OF BOLOGNA.

A TALE.[17]

CHAPTER I.

Of all the students that assembled at Bologna, A.D. 1324, Giacomo da
Valencia was the most popular and the most beloved. His wealth, his
liberality, his noble spirit, his handsome person, his bravery, and his
wit, gave him a just title to this pre-eminence.

Of all the beauties of the town of Bologna, whose mission it was in the
same year of grace, 1324, to turn the heads and inflame the hearts of this
assemblage of students, none could be compared to Constantia, niece of
Giovanni D'Andrea, one of the most celebrated jurisconsults of his age.

Of course, then, they loved each other, this peerless couple. No. Only the
student loved. The lady was fancy-free. The perverse god, having shot
_one_ arrow forth--buried it up to the very feather--"would not shoot his
other." No prayers and no clamour could avail: he held it loosely in his
hand, letting its golden point trail idly upon the sand.

In vain had Giacomo been the most constant attendant upon mass; in vain
had he lingered hour after hour on the promenade to catch one look of
recognition; in vain had he courted every family she visited, and for the
last six months had selected his acquaintances on one principle
only,--that they were hers, and might introduce him to her presence. All
his efforts were fruitless--Constantia, so amiable to all others, so
sweet, so gentle, was cold to him. She would not love. Why not? What was
there wanting in our cavalier? Was it birth, or wealth, or nobility of
spirit, or personal beauty? No, nothing was wanting--nothing in him. But,
for her, the hour had not yet struck. It was summer all around, but the
heart of the virgin--the rose of Bologna--was still sleeping in its coiled
leaves, and not to day would it unfold itself.

But the passion of Giacomo was invincible: no coldness could repulse, no
denial reduce him to despair. Love cannot exist, cannot endure, say
reasonable people, without hope. True. _But a great passion bears its own
hope in its bosom._ Neither was it in the nature or temperament of Giacomo
lightly to relinquish any enterprise he had once undertaken. The following
incident in his college life will serve to show the ardent, serious, and
indomitable temper of the lover of Constantia. A French cavalier, lately
emancipated f