t only
of the glowing gardens in the dales immediately beneath, but of the wide
plains, above whose low woods of mulberry and willow, thickened into a
dark mass by festoons of vines, tall, single cypresses, and the spires
of towns, are seen in the distance, which stretches to the mouths of the
Po and the shores of the Adriatic. The climate of these volcanic hills
is warmer, and the vintage begins a week sooner than in the plains of
Padua. Petrarch is laid, for he cannot be said to be buried, in a
sarcophagus of red marble, raised on four pilasters on an elevated base,
and preserved from an association with meaner tombs. It stands
conspicuously alone, but will be soon overshadowed by four lately
planted laurels. Petrarch's Fountain, for here everything is Petrarch's,
springs and expands itself beneath an artificial arch, a little below
the church, and abounds plentifully, in the driest season, with that
soft water which was the ancient wealth of the Euganean hills. It would
be more attractive, were it not, in some seasons, beset with hornets and
wasps. No other coincidence could assimilate the tombs of Petrarch and
Archilochus. The revolutions of centuries have spared these sequestered
valleys, and the only violence which has been offered to the ashes of
Petrarch was prompted, not by hate, but veneration. An attempt was made
to rob the sarcophagus of its treasure, and one of the arms was stolen
by a Florentine through a rent which is still visible. The injury is not
forgotten, but has served to identify the poet with the country where he
was born, but where he would not live. A peasant boy of Arqua being
asked who Petrarch was, replied, "that the people of the parsonage knew
all about him, but that he only knew that he was a Florentine."

Mr. Forsyth[577] was not quite correct in saying that Petrarch never
returned to Tuscany after he had once quitted it when a boy. It appears
he did pass through Florence on his way from Parma to Rome, and on his
return in the year 1350, and remained there long enough to form some
acquaintance with its most distinguished inhabitants. A Florentine
gentleman, ashamed of the aversion of the poet for his native country,
was eager to point out this trivial error in our accomplished traveller,
whom he knew and respected for an extraordinary capacity, extensive
erudition, and refined taste, joined to that engaging simplicity of
manners which has been so frequently recognised as the surest, thoug