Forgive, kind hearers, my wide wandering strain,
Uncheck'd by rules of sterner minstrelsy,

If, from the baseless fabric of the brain,
I sometimes turn to sad reality.

The genius of romance with loosen'd rein
Still gives his Hippogryff to wander free,
Now o'er the aërial heights that gave him birth,
Now through the calm and lowly vales of earth.

So he, "of dames and knights, of arms and love, Of courtesies and high attempts," who sung ("), Oft with the web of fancy interwove

Alphonso's praises, or with bolder tongue

Call'd down the vengeful lightning from above
On Cæsar's head, whom mad Ambition stung
O'er blind Ausonia's weeping fields to pour
His harpy legions from Iberia's shore.

Yet rest, my wandering steed, ere long to soar Mid higher regions of excursive song,

The secrets of the eternal veil explore,

And realms that to the shadowy hosts belong!
The cries of slaughter and the battle's roar
Die on my listening ear, while, borne along
Through midway air, with all too sudden speed
I rise ;-then rest awhile my wandering steed!

NOTES

ΤΟ

CANTO THE THIRD.

(1) "Whoe'er had heard the brazen trumpet's blast."]

E risonava più d'una trombetta

Per Roncisvalle con certo clangore,

Che parea proprio al giudicio chiamassi;

In Giusaffa si che i morti destassi.

Morgante, c. xxvi. st. 17.

(2) " And laid their first and stoutest champion low."] Whoever is curious to know the name of this unlucky champion may read it in the Morgante, c. xxvi. st. 51, &c. "Arlotto, King of Syria."

(3)" Ah brave unhappy boy!" &c.] Compare Pulci, c. xxvi, st, 132.

(4) "But who shall speak the terrors of that hour!"] For the simile in this stanza I am perhaps indebted (but

unconsciously) to one whose friendly zeal, manifested by many valuable suggestions throughout the whole of my poem, I am most happy in this opportunity of acknowledging as having laid me under much more important obligations.

Dark wave the plumes upon his iron casque,

A more than human grandeur fill'd his form

;

Such, in those sands where sunburnt Arabs bask, Stalks the black column through the deepening storm. Hodgson's Sir Edgar, c. ii. st. 11.

(5) “ Brave flower of widow'd England!"] Astolpho. See before, canto i. note (14).

(6) "That old mountain Ismaelite."] -Quel veglio antico maladetto

Che sta nelle Montagne d'Aspracorte.

For the history of this singular personage, and how Rinaldo, journeying eastward after the unsuccessful termination of his rebellion against Charlemagne, fell in love with Anthea the Amazon Princess of Babylon, and how he was dispatched by that proud princess on an apparently hopeless errand, to subdue and bring to her in chains this "ancient, cursed old man,”and how he succeeded in the enterprise,—and how he and Orlando afterwards made a friend of him, and availed themselves of his powerful assistance in the war which they subsequently made on the soldan of Baby

lon,-together with much other delectable and right profitable matter arising out of the same source, the reader is referred to the sixteenth and following cantos of the Morgante. In the twenty-sixth, we learn that Bujaforte, the son of this ancient worthy, entered into the service of King Marsilius; and the circumstance here related is taken from the 143d and following stanzas. To return to his father: The description of him by Pulci seems to me clearly to point at the celebrated " Old Man of the Mountains" so familiar to the readers of the History of the Crusades; and under this impression I have ventured to give him the title of " Ismaelite," alluding to the supposed origin of that curious historical personage. See Falconet's Dissertation on the Assassins, at the end of the "Memoirs of the Lord de Joinville."

Rinaldo's love for Anthea, above referred to, gives occasion to his cousin Orlando for the display of much eloquence and argument, and to Pulci for the introduction of several successive stanzas, in the objurgatory style, of peculiar construction, the first hemistich in each being repeated at the commencement of every following line in the same stanza, As, for example;

Ah where, Rinaldo, is thy valour gone?
Ah where, Rinaldo, is thy power, thy fame?
Ah where, Rinaldo, is thy sense o'erthrown?
Ah where, Rinaldo, is thine ancient name?

Ah where, Rinaldo, hath thy fancy flown?
Ah where, Rinaldo, hast thou lost thy shame?
Ah where, Rinaldo, is thy proud command?
Ah where, Rinaldo?—In a woman's hand!

Is this a season fit for sport and play?
Is this a season to be spent in love?
Is this a wanton summer's holiday?
Is this the Idalian hill, or Paphian grove?
Is this a time in idle peace to stay?
Is this the faith Orlando hoped to prove?
Is this a time to joust with harmless lance?
Is this the soft and peaceful realm of France?

And is it thus our conquests we shall save?
And is it thus we gain a glorious throne?
And is it thus Anthea's boasts we brave?
And is it thus we conquer Babylon?
And was it thus our plighted faith we gave?
And is it thus that plighted faith is shown?
And is it thus our hearts and souls we sever?—
Adventurous Hope and Joy, farewell for ever!
Pulci, canto xvi. st. 49, &c.

(7) "It is the sin by which the Devil fell," &c.]

Questo peccato scaccia la giustizia, &c.

Morgante, c, xi. st. 75.