The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and
Instruction, by Various
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction
Vol. XVII. No. 469. Saturday January 1, 1831
Author: Various
Release Date: August 17, 2004 [EBook #13199]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE ***
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Victoria Woosley and PG Distributed
Proofreaders
THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
No. 469.] SATURDAY JANUARY 1, 1831 [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Copied from one of the prints of last year's Landscape
Annual, from a drawing, by Prout. This proves what we said of the
imperishable interest of the Engravings of the L.A.]
* * * * *
Petrarch and Arqua; Ariosto, Tasso, and Ferrara;--how delightfully are
these names and sites linked in the fervour of Italian poetry. Lord
Byron halted at these consecrated spots, in his "Pilgrimage" through
the land of song:--
There is a tomb in Arqua;--rear'd in air,
Pillar'd in their sarcophagus, repose
The bones of Laura's lover: here repair
Many familiar with his well-sung woes,
The pilgrims of his genius. He arose
To raise a language, and his land reclaim
From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes:
Watering the tree which bears his lady's name
With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame.
They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died;
The mountain-village where his latter days
Went down the vale of years; and 'tis their pride--
An honest pride--and let it be their praise,
To offer to the passing stranger's gaze
His mansion and his sepulchre; both plain
And venerably simple; such as raise
A feeling more accordant with his strain
Than if a pyramid form'd his monumental fane.
And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt
Is one of that complexion which seems made
For those who their mortality have felt,
And sought a refuge from their hopes decay'd
In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade,
Which sho
|