I.
There are two Fountains in the Vale of Life,
That flow for lovers--one with nectar runs,
The other poison! One with joy is rife,
The other with a deadly gurgle stuns.
Their stream commingles for all Eva’s sons
And daughters who with mutual passion thrill.
None, none may drink the nectar pure, which shuns
All human lips till with the poison-rill
’Tis mixed, and happiest they whose cups the least may fill!
II.
And Young Love sits upon a flowery knoll
Where those two streamlets mix, his shafts he dips
In their joint flow, and ceaseless twangs at all
Who pass his ivory bow with wanton quips.
But in the honeyest kiss of human lips
There lurks a poison--ay, when hearts most mingle,
Doth Fate perchance prepare his scorpion whips;
And nerves that with the keenest rapture tingle
Shall haply curse the hour when ceased they to be single!
III.
’Twas a delicious, soft autumnal eve;
Salustian through his lovely garden strayed,
By Isabel supported. Mountains heave
Their giant forms to Heaven, Pyrene’s shade
Thrown to the Frenchward side. His bulwarks made
A fence the westering sunbeam to reflect,
And balmy gales from many an opening glade
Came soft the old man’s forehead to protect
From fiercer rays, while moved his form no more erect.
IV.
And, as on Isabel’s sustaining arm
He passed ’neath trellised vine that dropt its load
Of blooming clusters near their heads, the charm
Of youthful beauty in that fair abode
More interest took from sorrows that corrode
The old man’s brow beside her. Ne’er was seen
A lovelier picture than the pains bestowed
On that ripe senior by that maiden green--
No sire more grave, no maid more dutiful I ween.
V.
Between the apple-trees with loaded boughs
Peeped ever and anon Ernani’s towers,
And Haya tops them with his craggy brows,
And distant Jaizquibel where tempest lours
So oft serenely smiles. Through scented bowers
Of orange, jasmine, myrtle, balm, they pass,
And Isabel now tends, now plucks the flowers,
A nosegay for her sire, while dew like glass
In beads begins to strew the eve-reviving grass.
VI.
Not fairer opened in Alcina’s isle
Upon Ruggiero’s wild, enchanted view
The magic garden, mightiest wings the while
Furled the aërial steed on which he flew.
Not fairer that to which Armida drew
The Christian Knight whom fatal toils ensnared,
Where side by side the fruit and blossoms grew,
The bough green apples with the golden shared,
And the full ripened with the nascent fig compared.
VII.
Salustian to the sheltering house returned
For twilight’s bland repose, and Isabel
Amongst the flowers she loved till night sojourned,
Then to a bower retired in distant dell
Upon the garden’s verge she cherished well,
For there full oft with Nial joyous seated
She deep had drunk of Love’s delicious spell,
And many a Vascon legend oft repeated,
And now with thought of him the tedious hours she cheated.
VIII.
Sudden a tall gaunt man before her stood,
With hat broad-flapping slouched upon his face,
Xaquéta and buckled shoon: in masking mood
He seemed, half-monk and half of worldlier race.
He raised his head, his features showed apace.
Screamed Isabel who saw ’twas Fray Beltrán,
Don Carlos’ brother who a rival place
Had sought in Isidora’s heart, and ran,
When Carlos he had smote, to cloisters fenced from man.
IX.
Now glared his eye with fearful purpose--swift
He caught her wrist--she screamed again: “Thou’lt come
“With me!” he said--she struggled--he did lift
Her in his arms, where swooned the maid struck dumb
With terror--to a steed he bore her from
The bower, upon its shoulder laid her form,
Then sprang to the saddle ere her senses numb
Revived, and galloped swift his courser warm,
Till on an ocean-cliff he stood ’neath gathering storm.
X.
Here by steep paths he led the maid perforce
Adown the cliff amid the seamew’s wail.
Terrific were the perils of their course,
And Isabel with sobs outsighed the gale.
Oh, dire to see that beauty lorn and pale!
At length so difficult the rude descent,
That in his arms he lifted her;--no jail
She dreaded like those arms, and shuddering bent
Away and shrieked, but none to aid the maiden went.
XI.
Within a lofty cave and wide they now
Together stood, the ocean-wave before,
Stalactites pendent from its rocky brow,
And moon-lit shells and shingle strewed the floor.
Little of these thought Isabel, though more
Delighted none with Nature’s works than she,
In calmer hours. Beltrán she doth implore
On bended knees with tears full sad to see,
And prayers and passionate sobs, to set her stainless free.
XII.
He shook his head: “Oh dread, mysterious man,
“What would’st thou with me here?”--“Not harm a hair
“Of thine, most beauteous maiden.” Curdling ran
Her blood, for she did think he mocked her prayer.
“If just thy purpose, why felonious tear
“Me from my father’s side--my father ailing?”
She wept again: “My innocence, oh, spare----
“Release me”--but her prayers were unavailing,
And loud resounded all the cavern with her wailing.
XIII.
“Now hear me,” said Beltrán, while flashed his eye
With supernatural light, and instant flushed
His pale and haggard cheek. “My destiny
“Thou know’st is terrible as e’er hath hushed
The heart of man, or youthful spirit crushed.
I loved, and in a brother found, oh God!
A rival--all unconsciously I rushed
And stabbed him--then a cloister’s pavement trod,
And sought relief in prayer, in monkish fast, and rod.
XIV.
“But vain the toil. Thy image, Isidor,
For ever haunted thus my troubled brain.
The prisoned lion doth the fiercer roar,
And chafed my tortured spirit ’neath its chain.
The thought that Isidora”--’Twas in vain
He checked the tears that here began to flow,
Tears that like molten fire adown did rain.--
“The thought that _she_ could not be mine--the wo
Unutterable racked my brain to madness--so!
XV.
“The sack of San Sebastian came to ope
My convent-door which War’s dread fire consumed.
Kindled that fire in me a ray of hope.
I rushed to your house--but found its Lar entombed
In smouldering ashes. Like a spirit doomed,
I wandered then Guipúscoa’s confines through,
When chance another ray of Hope illumed.
I found the garden, saw your sire and you,
But nought of Isidor could learn, nor e’er could view.
XVI.
“All thought of her I checked--but while my soul
Shook with its mortal agony I sought
Relief in the design to this rude goal
To bear thee, maiden, as I now have brought,
And gaze upon thy face where Nature wrought
Such likeness unto _her_--but fear not harm
From me! Thou’rt as a sister dear, whom nought
Shall dare to injure. Let me drink the charm
Of thy sweet face i’ the Moon--nay, curb thy vain alarm!
XVII.
“’Tis her’s I see in thine--her angel face
In thee depictured. In the moonlight stand,
I pray thee, Isabel.”--On that lone place
The sound of oars and voices from the strand
Fell--’tis the Basque barqueras come to land;
And straight they fill the cave, where from the storm
They seek retreat. Amazed the Nereid band
Behold the frayle’s and the maiden’s form;
But soon the mystery solved uproused their spirits warm.
XVIII.
“Go, Frayle, to thy book and to thy beads;
With dame or damsel nought concerns thee more.
Off to thy cloister, breviary, and weeds,
Or straight we’ll drive thee forth with lusty oar,
Laid on thy shoulders till no bull shall roar
On Guetaría’s plain more loud than thou.
The peerless lily, Doña Isidor,
Whom thou so madly lov’dst, is buried now
In Santiago’s green, where lilies o’er her bow.”
XIX.
Dire was the change in all his face, when heard
This fatal news he ne’er before had learned.
He gasped with horror--nor could e’en a word
Put forth--his jawbone fell--as pale he turned
As monumental marble, for inurned
His hopes lay in her tomb. Upon his face
Grief stamped a fearful image. He sojourned
But for an instant more--“’Tis lilies grace
“Her grave?” he said--they nod--he roelike fled the place!
XX.
Soon found the blithe Barqueras dry old wood,
And kindled fire i’ the centre of the cave.
Bright flashed the blaze, and sparkling keener stood
The dark-eyed daughters of the ocean-wave,
But brighter flashed, that thus they came to save
In peril’s hour, the eyes of Isabel.
Her glances eloquent the tribute gave
Of gratitude, nor looked she e’er so well
As when the o’erflowing heart threw Beauty’s softer spell.
XXI.
Her mobile face with play of sweetest smiles
Gives forth her innocent thoughts and nought conceals:
An aspect changeful still that ne’er beguiles,
For every change a beauty new reveals,
Its form vibrating as her bosom feels.
As some fair lake reflects each passing cloud,
Each sun-bright ray that o’er its bosom steals,
So were her looks with mirror truth endowed,
Nor could she, if she would, emotion’s play enshroud.
XXII.
“Oh, Isidor’s and Blanca’s blessing fall
“From Heaven upon your heads!” she weeping cried.
At Blanca’s name the maidens kist her all,
In memory of their Armadilla’s pride.
From Contrabandist stores, the cavern wide
Embosomed, then refreshment meet they drew;
And while the flickering blaze, as nightwinds sighed,
In light or shade their beauties lambent threw,
They waited till more calm the Ocean grow to view.
XXIII.
’Twas after Sunset but the second hour,
When Nial from the Bidasoa came,
Glowing with valour’s pride and passion’s power,
And eager to recount the army’s fame
To Isabel--for sealed a blushing shame
His lips to his own daringness of deed,
And to conceal it e’en was oft his aim.
Swift lit the hero from his foaming steed,
And met Salustian wild distracted, borne at speed:
XXIV.
“Hast seen her? Hast thou seen my daughter? Say,
“Know’st thou aught of my girl?”--“Great Heaven, what means
“Thy question?”--“They have ta’en my girl away--
“One, one was not enough. Oh, Hell-born scenes
“Of War!” An instant’s breathing-time he leans
On Nial. “Isabel--.” “Who dared to harm?”
Quoth Nial, flashing terrible wrath, then gleans
From the old man, how, sleeping, the alarm
Reached him that she was torn away by a stranger’s arm,
XXV.
And then to horse, and galloped out of sight,
But none knew whither--none who dared aspire.
Swift to his steed leapt Nial airy light,
His nostril panting with excitement dire,
His lips compressed with fearful purpose--ire
And vengeance from his eagle glances fly.
“Stay--stay; I join thee,” cried the plundered sire.
“Stir not for love of Heaven!” was the reply.
Salustian screamed: “I go! Who so bereaved as I?”
XXVI.
Vain Nial’s words--Salustian would to horse:
“Then let your ailing master be your care,”
Quoth Nial to Salustian’s men. “Remorse
“Be his who shall neglect my fervent prayer,
“That, if he still will follow, slow ye fare!”
He spurred his generous charger--at a bound
Crost half the court-yard, learnt the route to bear
Upon the robber’s track, and soon the sound
Of his steed’s hoofs was lost upon the mountain-ground.
XXVII.
Vain his long gallop, vain his bird-like speed,
Vain every turn and venture far and near.
Sad, sad grew Nial’s heart, and ’gan to bleed,
While from his eye fell many a bitter tear.
O’er leagues of mountain heath did nought appear,
Save his own shadow and his steed’s i’ the Moon
Reflected long and dreary as the year
It seemed since he had parted, vowing soon
To meet, from Isabel thus lost in Beauty’s noon!
XXVIII.
He sickened at the thought of what might be,
And let his weary charger pace at will,
While o’er the heath Salustian rapidly
At peril of his life through dale and hill
Careered, grief’s energy sustaining still.
“Oh Nial, know’st thou aught?”--A tear he shed,
More speaking Silence than might volumes fill.
The old man tore his hair. His steed they led
By the rein, and held his hands in pity for his head.
XXIX.
Thus by the far-resounding shore they past,
High o’er the bosom of the heaving main,
When reached their ears upon the lulling blast
A chorus sweet that seemed to ease their pain.
Their eyes cast downward o’er the Ocean-plain
Beheld the Basque barqueras distant ply
Their shallops in the moonlight, like a chain
Of jet o’er sparkling emerald. Both drew nigh
To the cliff’s edge, amazed a sight so strange to espy.
XXX.
Sudden the chorus ceased--the shallops stopt--
The oars arose like spear-shafts in the air;
“_Parad!_” a voice exclaimed, like music dropt
Upon the gale that hastened swift to bear
The summons to the victims of Despair.
Down fell the oars again, and swift each hand
The green wave lashed, till urged those Nereids fair
Their prows with rival speed upon the strand,
And soon in beauteous file upon the beach they land.
XXXI.
Great Heaven! what is’t? ’Tis she, ’tis Isabel,
That from the midst takes rapidly the lead,
With eager cry of transport. Each full well
Of each the features recognized. His steed
Soon Nial left, and sprang with headlong speed
Adown the cliff, of Isabel’s alarms
And imminent perils taking little heed.
His magnet strong was her recovered charms,
Nor drew he foot nor breath till clasped within his arms!
XXXII.
Oh, rapturous embrace! oh, tenfold joy,
All sweeter for the racking grief sustained.
Salustian shook with transport to destroy,
Upon the cliff where he perforce remained,
By iron bonds of age and sickness chained.
But swift sweet Isabel to cheer him flew,
Like beauteous fawn, and soon the summit gained,
And wept with bliss, and on her bosom true
The old man’s weary head sustained, and kist anew.
XXXIII.
And soon her story wondrous strange was told,
Beltrán’s devoted frenzy, harmless all,
And how the Basque barqueras, even though bold
And criminal his passion, seemed to fall
From Heaven to her relief. From Vascon tall,
Salustian’s servitor, doth Nial here
Take well-trained steed, then lift her wrapt in shawl;
And, homeward wending, Heaven received a tear
Of gratitude for her who now was doubly dear.
XXXIV.
And many a noble gift Salustian sent
With old Hidalgo lavishment to mark
His grateful spirit to the maids who went
To aid his daughter when the sky was dark,
And safely bore to his arms in gallant bark.
But what of San Sebastian ’mid this play
Of grief and joy alternate? Is no ark
Of saving launched upon the torrent spray,
That swept her homes? Alas, still desolate are they!
XXXV.
In Santiago’s burial-green, while fall
The struggling moonbeams from a stormy sky,
With brilliance now unclouded, now with pall
Of darkness shadowed intermittingly,
A haggard, gaunt, and ghostly form doth try
Each mound of earth for some peculiar sign,
With preternatural strides and gleaming eye
Doth pass from grave to grave, from line to line,
With eye more fearful bright then halt and cry: “’Tis thine!”
XXXVI.
’Twas Fray Beltrán, who ’mongst the graves had found,
With instinct’s fatal truth and frenzy’s lore,
The lilies planted o’er the new-raised mound,
That hid the Vascon lily, Isidor!
And as some mariner a rock-bound shore
Doth find in shipwreck, where his limbs are cast
And dashed to pieces with the saving oar,
So baleful was this sight of earth that passed
Before Beltrán’s red eyes, and like to prove their last!
XXXVII.
With nerves mad-strung he knelt upon the sod,
And deeply groaned, and raised a fervent prayer.
That prayer, ah me, it was not breathed to God;
It seemed the very echo of Despair!
Nor yet the name of Heaven invoked he there,
But loud at first he called the Fiend and Hell,
Till breathed the name of Isidora fair,
All ’midst his anguish dire it was a spell,
Melting his heart to tears that now in torrents fell!
XXXVIII.
“Oh, lily torn and crushed,” he said, “thou art gone!
Mine--mine--though Fate had given thee to another.
Let cold, weak hearts condemn the love whose dawn
Was ere the altar bound thee to a brother.
I sought that world-condemnéd love to smother--
As well might stifle a volcano, bind
The ocean-wave, or bid the yearning mother
Curse her first-born. The cloister more enshrined
Thy image--Solitude the gold but more refined!
XXXIX.
“Sack-cloth, the fast, the scourge could not o’ercome
The force of passion tyrant-strong like this;
Heart-rooted, it can ne’er be torn but from
My heart with life. Grief, anguish, Death e’en, miss
The aim to mar it. Memory’s self is bliss--
An anguished bliss--the only I can know.
My love hath fed on agony. A kiss,
Stol’n from thee once unwilling, soothed my wo,
When after days of fast had laid me fainting low!
XL.
“Cloisters are not for me. Ascetic bands,
Although of iron, chain not souls like mine.
Withes bind not giants, twirled by pigmy hands.
Earth’s hidden fires the globe cannot confine.
They burst in lava torrents! Shade divine
Of Isidor, the fires within my breast
Consume me--for a sight of thee I pine.
Thy lovely lips must yet once more be prest,
Even though in death, or ere I find eternal rest!”
XLI.
Then with a frantic energy he tore
The earth light-piled upon the new-made grave;
Digging with kite-like nails till they were sore,
But slow his progress, dire the toil he gave.
Ill brooked his soul of time to be the slave.
Again he tore the earth, till stiff and numb
His hands refuse the task. Not demons rave
More wild than he; he shrieked and howled o’ercome;
And tears like molten lead descend till he is dumb!
XLII.
Sudden a thought flashed o’er him--he is gone,
Swift as the antelope, and soon returns
With spade and mattock--unto Heaven ’tis known
Where found, but frantic energy that burns
Like his the will that shapes a way inurns;
And rapid his career the churchyard ’mid.
Now, now the clay to either side he spurns
With swift-plied implements in earth deep hid,
And now his mattock strikes upon a coffin-lid!
XLIII.
He yelled for joy! In vain his fingers flew
To loose the firm new lid--it mocks his art.
His toil with ten-fold zeal he doth renew,
And clear the earth away from every part.
Oh now, how glare his eyes, how bounds his heart!
Gently his mattock’s pressure is applied
’Twixt lid and coffin till the strong nails start;
Gently, for all is sacred by her side,
Loveliest of Vascon maids, who Virtue’s martyr died!
XLIV.
The lid is moved--the beauteous face unveiled,
Whose beauty not e’en violent death could mar.
That instant forth the Moon sublimely sailed
From darkest cloud that long its stormy bar
To her light opposed, and shone o’er every star,
Peerless in Heaven as Isidor on earth.
Heart-piercing was the cry that pealed afar,
As threw Beltrán his form on hers, in mirth
Hysteric mixed with sobs, and clasped her frozen girth,
XLV.
And kist her icy lips--ah me, ’twas cold
Reply to love that like a furnace glowed;
Love that all lawless and forbidden told
Its tale more fierce that o’er such bounds it strode--
The solemn bounds ’twixt Life and Death’s abode,
’Twixt Transience and Eternity! Her form
Was fresh and pure, Decay could not corrode
So soon its loveliness. Beltrán i’ the storm
Still kist as if his breath her lifeless clay could warm.
XLVI.
But vain his kisses, vain his burning tears,
Though poured in showers like those that left the sky.
Man cannot weep for aye--his brain it sears
To feel such anguish as Beltrán made cry
Beneath the withering stroke of Destiny!
Up from the grave he sprang, and fiercely bore
The coffin-lid--its parts asunder fly--
With spade and mattock into lengths he tore
The stubborn wood, and thus the grave he laid them o’er.
XLVII.
And from the churchyard near he gathered stones,
And deftly filled the spaces ’twixt the wood;
Then took what came to hand,--or clay or bones--
And wedged each interstice with worm’s old food,
And when the work was done pronounced it good!
Then o’er the deathful pit thus covered in
He heaped the earth beside the margins strewed,
Leaving but at the head a fissure thin
For meagre body worn by sorrow and by sin!
XLVIII.
He entered worming through the aperture
With cautious care lest all his toil should fail,
And smiled he last to see the work so sure,
Then drew his head within the covert frail.
He laid him down beside that beauty pale,
And with his hands the boards he turned aside,
Destroying the slight arch that propt his gaol.
The earth-fall smothered the last words he cried:
“Though severed in our lives, yet Death could not divide!”
HISTORICAL AND ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES TO CANTO XI.
The character of Fray Beltrán, as portrayed in this Canto, is meant
to represent a portion of the extraordinary and irregular energies
which the events of the French Revolution and Invasion produced
in Spanish cloisters. It is with a view to impart variety to my
subject, that I have dwelt upon love and madness as the shapes
which Beltrán’s wild energy assumed, though political propagandism,
patriotic denunciation of the French, and even taking up arms, were
acts familiar to the Exclaustrados or expelled inmates of religious
houses, violated by the ruthless invader--often for the purpose of
converting cloisters into stables!
In these transactions, the French took one way of realising Sir
Thomas More’s “Happy Republic.” “In no victory do they glory so
much, as in that which is gained without bloodshed.” They rejoiced
to triumph by fraud, like the ancient Spartans, or liker perhaps
the Egyptian Harami--incorporated for plunder. The monks and
friars of the Peninsula were not all, however, helpless. Many fled
to the mountains and marshalled or joined Guerrilla parties, and
there was scarcely a Guerrilla throughout Spain during the War
of Independence that had not some monks and friars incorporated
with it. This system continues down to the present hour, and the
accession of these clerical auxiliaries has ever thrown a sort of
halo over the pursuit in a superstitious country. “_La Patria y la
Religion!_” was a potent cry, and the life of perpetual adventure
was in the highest degree exciting and romantic.
But the poetical view of the Guerrillas must be counterbalanced
by the more strictly historical view of their character. It is
questionable whether these irregular levies did not produce
nearly as much evil as good. Candour must confess that there was
as much robbery as patriotism in the system. Amongst the leaders
of the _partidas_ personal interests were too often predominant.
Discipline under such a system is of course impossible, and each
man’s object is naturally to secure the largest share of the
plunder for himself. The leaders of the different _partidas_ were
terribly jealous of each other; and one of the first exploits of
Espoz y Mina, the most distinguished of all their chiefs, was to
slay the leader of a Guerrilla band in his neighbourhood, because
he plundered his own countrymen under the mask of patriotism: he
was also, doubtless, in Mina’s way. All through Mina’s career,
“he would never suffer any _partida_ but his own to be in his
district.” (_Life of Mina._) The irregularity inherent in the
Guerrilla system of warfare encouraged violence, license, and
disregard for the rights of property. The _partidas_ were an
admirable instrument for raising a whole people against the
invader; but the application of the force was subsequently
misdirected, and the surprise of Figueras was the only service of
first-rate importance that they ever performed in Spain. Their
minor exploits were, however, innumerable, and the disparaging
observations of Napier, Foy, and St. Cyr, all regular military men,
are to be received with caution.
The course of life of the Spanish Guerrillero, commencing often as
a soldier, then becoming a deserter, next flying to the mountains
and turning robber, and lastly turning soldier on his own account,
closely resembles the description of the Roman Spartacus by
Florus:--“Ille de stipendiario Thrace miles, de milite desertor,
inde latro, deinde in honore virium gladiator.... Exercitum
percecidit ... castra delevit ... in primo agmine fortissimè
dimicans.” (_Lib. iii. cap._ 30.)
It is not intended to palliate the numerous acts of jealousy,
hatred, treachery, and plunder, which our army sustained from
Spanish and Portuguese allies. But many important services were
rendered by the Guerrillas, and still more by the regular troops of
Portugal. And, in addition to the Guerrilla chiefs, of whom I have
already noticed the principal, the regular troops of Spain achieved
some successes under the command of Castaños, Palafox, Reding,
Blake, O’Donnel, Sarsfield, Downie (these four Generals were Irish
or of Irish extraction), Albuquerque, Freyre, Ballasteros, Longa,
Giron, Mendizabal, Romana and Morillo.
Amongst the Portuguese officers, who distinguished themselves in
these campaigns, must be noticed with praise, besides Saldanha and
Terceira, the Condes of Amarante, Villareal, Das Antas and Bomfim,
the Freires, Lecor, Leite, Vallongo, and Talaia.
II. “And Young love sits upon a flowery knoll.”
Vide Claudian. _Nupt. Honor. et Mariæ._ Claudian makes one of the
fountains of honey.
“And nerves that with the keenest rapture tingle
Shall haply curse the hour when ceased they to be single!”
Molestæ hæ sunt nuptiæ!
Terent. _Andr._ act ii. sc. 2.
VI. “Not fairer opened in Alcina’s isle.”
Vide Ariosto, _Orlando Furioso_, canto vi.
“Where side by side the fruit and blossoms grow.”
Vide Tasso, _Gerusalemme_, canto xvi.
XX. “But brighter flashed, that thus they came to save
In peril’s hour, the eyes of Isabel.”
Wer rettete vom tode mich,
Von sklaverey?
Hast du nicht alles selbst vollendet,
Heilig glühend herz?
Goethe (Prometheus).
“Who rescued me from death, from slavery? Hast thou not all
achieved, holily glowing heart?”
XXII. “In memory of their Armadilla’s pride.”
_Armada_ “a fleet,” _Armadilla_ “a little fleet.”
XXIV. “Hast seen her? Hast thou seen my daughter? Say,
Know’st thou aught of my girl?”
Er rief in das geheul des windes,
Lenorens namen hundertmal;
Doch statt des heissgeliebten kindes,
Antwortet ihm der wiederhall.
Langbein.
“He cried out, ’mid the howling of the winds, Leonora’s name a
hundred times; but echo answered him instead of his best-beloved
child.”
XXX. “_Parad!_ a voice exclaimed like music dropt.”
_Parad_, “stop!”
XXXII. “Oh, rapturous embrace, oh tenfold joy,
All sweeter for the racking grief sustained!”
“Idem est beate vivere, et secundum naturam,” says Seneca. This
was the great rule of the Stoic philosophy, and may likewise be
applied to Christian lovers. Tranquil wedded bliss appears to be
its consummation. This living according to Nature will, of course,
be varied in its interpretation, according to each man’s individual
temperament. “Tot sensus, quot capita,” says Tertullian. And the
decision of Protagoras will find too many adherents, who conceived
himself to be the only standard of what was right and proper, and
believed all things good which seemed so to him. Christianity
happily gets rid of the evanescent and impalpable vagueness of
the ancient philosophy, which slipt through the fingers like the
statues of Dædalus, and comes to our aid with positive precept.
In illustration of this vagueness the advocates of the atomic
theory as an adjunct of their system made the chief part of man’s
happiness consist in pleasure, which an Epicurean would interpret
literally to signify the enjoyments of sense, and a Platonist would
expound, properly understood, to mean the exercise of virtue.
Yet both in their philosophizing would be probably theoretical,
and their practice, as in most instances, would be the result
of temperament and impulse; for “every man calleth that which
pleaseth, and is delightful to himself, _good_; and _evil_ that
which displeaseth him.” (Hobbes, _Treatise on Human Nature_, c.
vii.)
XXXIV. “With old Hidalgo lavishment.”
Que un hidalgo no debe á otro que a Dios y al Rei nada.
(Mendoza, _Lazarillo de Tormes_.)
“An Hidalgo owes nothing, except to God and the King.” Such were
the ideas of justice, which prevailed amongst the noble class in
Old Spain. The funds which were denied to creditors were squandered
in largesses.
“To aid his daughter when the sky was dark.”
Die hand die uns durch dieses dunkel führt.--Wieland.
“The hand that leads us through this darkness.”
XL. “Earth’s hidden fires the globe cannot confine.”
Nè sì scossa giammai trema la terra,
Quando i vapori in sen gravida serra.
Tasso, _Ger. Lib._ iv. 3.
Those who may think the beauty of Salustian’s garden, as described
in this Canto, exaggerated, I would invite to visit the country
between San Sebastian and Ernani, as I did last year, and revel in
its groves and orchards.
IBERIA WON.