]

[Sidenote: A self-apostrophe]

Count Giacomo Leopardi, the foremost lyric poet of modern Italy, died on
June 14. Leopardi's genius was tinctured with pessimism. Like Byron, he was
powerfully moved by the painful contrast between the classic grandeur of
ancient Italy and the degeneracy of its latter days. The tendency toward
pessimism was increased by his own ill health. His first works were the
result of his eager study of classic antiquities. Thus he brought out a new
edition and translation of Porphyrios' "De vita Plotini." His earliest
verses, such as the fine "Ode to Italy," and his poem on a projected
monument for Dante, already contained the strain of sadness that ran
through all his later poems. On the publication of Leopardi's first
collection of verses, Niebuhr, the Prussian Ambassador at Rome, offered him
a professorship at Berlin, but the poet's failing health prevented
acceptance. Religious dissensions with his father depressed his spirits
still more. He gave expression to his increasing sadness in the beautiful
ode on the "Minor Brutus." In 1825 he took part in bringing out the famous
"Antologia" at Florence, and also issued an edition of Petrarch and two
collections of Italian verse. Another collection of his own poems was
published in 1826, followed by the prose dialogues "Operette Morali." In
1833, declining health led Leopardi to withdraw to Naples. One year before
his death he brought out a last collection of poems distinguished alike for
poignant pessimism and for their high lyric beauty. Characteristic of
Leopardi's verse is this poem addressed to himself:

Now lie forever still,
My weary heart. Farewell, my last illusion
The dream that we endure. Farewell! Too surely
I know my end, and now of self-deception
The hope long since and dear desire has left me.
Be still forever! Enough
Of fluttering such as thine has been. Vain, vain
Thy palpitation, the wide world is not worth
Our sighs; for bitter pain
Life's portion is, naught else, and slime this earth.
Subside henceforth, despair forever!
Fate gave this race of ours
For only guerdon death. Then make a sport
Of thine own self, of nature, and the dark
First power that, hidden, rules the world for harm--
And of the infinite emptiness of all.

[Sidenote: Death of Pushkin]

[Sidenote: Lermontov]

Russia lost her foremost man of letters at this period by the death of
Count Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin, as the