Fly, O my songs, to Varignano, fly!
Like some lost flock of swallows homeward flying,
And hail me Rome's Dictator, who there doth lie
Broken with wounds, but conquered not, nor dying;
Bid him think on the April that is nigh,
Month of the flowers and ventures fear-defying.
Or if it is not nigh, it soon shall come,
As shall the swallow to his last year's home,
As on its naked stem the rose shall burn,
As to the empty sky the stars return,
As hope comes back to hearts crushed by regret;--
Nay, say not this to his heart ne'er crushed yet!
Let us conclude these notices with one of the Stornelli which is
non-political, but which I think we won't find the less agreeable for
that reason. I like it because it says a pretty thing or two very
daintily, and is interfused with a certain arch and playful spirit
which is not so common but we ought to be glad to recognize it.
If you are good as you are fair, indeed,
Keep to yourself those sweet eyes, I implore!
A little flame burns under either lid
That might in old age kindle youth once more:
I am like a hermit in his cavern hid,
But can I look on you and not adore?
Fair, if you do not mean my misery
Those lovely eyes lift upward to the sky;
I shall believe you some saint shrined above,
And may adore you if I may not love;
I shall believe you some bright soul in bliss,
And may look on you and not look amiss.
I have already noted the more obvious merits of the Stornelli, and I
need not greatly insist upon them. Their defects are equally plain;
one sees that their simplicity all but ceases to be a virtue at times,
and that at times their feeling is too much intellectualized. Yet for
all this we must recognize their excellence, and the skill as well
as the truth of the poet. It is very notable with what directness he
expresses his thought, and with what discretion he leaves it when
expressed. The form is always most graceful, and the success with
which dramatic, picturesque, and didactic qualities are blent, for
a sole effect, in the brief compass of the poems, is not too highly
praised in the epithet of novelty. Nothing is lost for the sake of
attitude; the actor is absent from the most dramatic touches, the
painter is not visible in lines which are each a picture, the teacher
does not appear for the purpose of enforcing the moral. It is not the
grandest poetry, but is true feeling, admirable art.