tine distinctions and subtleties have been allowed to fall away; Germanic curiosities and speculations have not been introduced; the God of conscience reigns alone; feminine sweetness has been cut off; we do not fine the husband of souls, the lovable consoler, whom the "Imitation of Jesus Christ" follows even in his tender dreams; something manly breathes from religion in England; we find that the Old Testament, the severe Hebrew Psalms, have left their imprint here. It is no longer an intimate friend to whom a man confides his petty desires, his small troubles, a sort of affectionate and quite human priestly guide; it is no longer a king whose relations and courtiers he tries to gain over, and from whom he looks for favors or places; we see in him only a guardian of duty, and we speak to him of nothing else. What we ask of him is the strength to be virtuous, the inner renewal by which we become capable of always doing good; and such a prayer is in itself a sufficient lever to tear a man from his weaknesses. What we know of the Deity is that he is perfectly just; and such a reliance suffices to represent all the events of life as an approach to the reign of justice. Strictly speaking, justice alone exists; the world is a figure which conceals it, but heart and conscience sustain it, and there is nothing important or true in man but the embrace by which he holds it. So speak the old grave prayers, the severe hymns which are sung in the church, accompanied by the organ. Though a Frenchman, and brought up in a different religion, I heard them with sincere admiration and emotion. Serious and grand poems, which, opening a path to the infinite, let a ray of light into the limitless darkness, and satisfy the deep poetic instincts, the vague desire of sublimity and melancholy, which this race has manifested from its origin, and which it has preserved to the end.

TORQUATO TASSO.

TASSO, TORQUATO, a distinguished Italian poet; born at Sorrento, March 11, 1544; died at Rome, April 25, 1595. He studied in the best Italian schools, and at the age of seventeen received high honors from the University of Padua. He devoted himself wholly to letters, and at eighteen wrote the epic poem "Rinaldo," which won for him a high reputation. His epic "La Gerusalemme Liberata" ("Jerusalem Delivered") was completed in 1575, and Tasso was appointed historiographer of the ducal house of Ferrara. In 1577 Tasso fled from Ferrara. After a couple of years he returned, was arrested, and confined as a madman in the Hospital of Santa Anna for seven years. In 1586 he was released, and spent some years mainly at Naples and Rome. He went to Rome for the last time in the autumn of 1594. His health gave way, and he was taken to the Monastery of St. Onofrio, where he died, April 25, 1595. The "Jerusalem Delivered" holds an acknowledged place among the great epics of the world. Among Tasso's other works are "Aminta," a pastoral drama (1581); "Rime, insiemi con altro Conponimenti" (1581); "Dialoghi e Discorsi" (1586-87); and "Gerusalemme Conquistata" (1593).

THE CRUSADERS' FIRST SIGHT OF THE HOLY CITY.

(From "Jerusalem Delivered.")

THE purple morning left her crimson bed,

And donned her robe of pure vermilion hue;
Her amber locks she crowned with roses red,

In Eden's flowery gardens gathered new :
When through the camp a murmur shrill was spread;
Arm, arm! they cried; arm, arm! the trumpets blew;
Their merry noise prevents the joyful blast:

So hum small bees, before their swarms they cast.

Their captain rules their courage, guides their heat,
Their forwardness he stays with gentle rein:

And yet more easy, haply, were the feat,
To stop the current near Charybdis's main,

Or calm the blustering winds on mountains great,
Than fierce desires of warlike hearts restrain:
He rules them yet, and ranks them in their haste,
For well he knows disordered speed makes waste.

Feathered their thoughts, their feet in wings were dight;
Swiftly they marched, yet were not tired thereby,
For willing minds make heaviest burdens light:
But when the gliding sun was mounted high,
Jerusalem, behold, appeared in sight,

Jerusalem they view, they see, they spy;
Jerusalem with merry noise they greet,
With joyful shouts and acclamations sweet.

As when a troop of jolly sailors row,

Some new-found land and country to descry;
Through dangerous seas and under stars unknown,
Thrall to the faithless waves and trothless sky;
If once the wishèd shore begin to show,

They all salute it with a joyful cry,
And each to other show the land in haste,
Forgetting quite their pains and perils past.

To that delight which their first sight did breed,
That pleased so the secret of their thought,
A deep repentance did forthwith succeed,

That reverend fear and trembling with it brought.
Scantly they durst their feeble eyes dispread

Upon that town where Christ was sold and bought, Where for our sins he, faultless, suffered pain,

There where he died, and where he lived again.

Soft words, low speech, deep sobs, sweet sighs, salt tears,
Rose from their breasts, with joy and pleasure mixt;
For thus fares he, the Lord aright that fears,
Fear on devotion, joy on faith is fixt;

Such noise their passions make, as when one hears
The hoarse sea-waves roar hollow rocks betwixt;

Or as the wind in hoults and shady greaves

A murmur makes among the boughs and leaves.

Their naked feet trod on the dusty way,

Following th' ensample of their zealous guide; Their scarfs, their crests, their plumes, and feathers gay, They quickly doft and willing laid aside:

Their molten hearts their wonted pride allay,

Along their watery cheeks warm tears down slide;
And then such secret speech as this they used,
While to himself each one himself accused:

"Flower of goodness, root of lasting bliss,

Thou well of life, whose streams were purple blood
That flowed here, to cleanse the foul amiss

Of sinful man, - behold this brinish flood,
That from my melting heart distilled is;
Receive in gree these tears, O Lord so good:
For never wretch with sin so overgone
Had fitter time or greater cause to moan."

[Idriot,

DESCRIPTION OF THE SORCERESS ARMIDA.

(From "Jerusalem Delivered.")

magician, at the instigation of the powers of Hell sends his niece

Armida, who is an enchantress, to the camp of the Crusaders to seduce the chiefs.]

ARMIDA, in her youth and beauty's pride,

Assumed th' adventure; and at close of day,

Eve's vesper star her solitary guide,

Alone, untended, took her secret way.
In clustering locks and feminine array,
Armed with but loveliness and frolic youth,

She trusts to conquer mighty kings, and slay
Embattled hosts; meanwhile false rumors soothe
The light censorious crowd, sagacious of the truth.

Few days elapsed, ere to her wishful view
The white pavilions of the Latins rise;

The camp she reached: her wondrous beauty drew
The gaze and admiration of all eyes;

Not less than if some strange star in the skies,
Or blazing comet's more resplendent tire

Appeared: a murmur far below her flies,

And crowds press round, to listen or inquire

Who the fair pilgrim is, and soothe their eyes' desire.

Never did Greece or Italy behold

A form to fancy and to taste so dear!

At times the white veil dims her locks of gold,

At times in bright relief they reappear:

So when the stormy skies begin to clear,

Now through transparent clouds the sunshine gleams;
Now issuing from its shrine, the gorgeous sphere

Lights up the leaves, flowers, mountains, vales, and streams, With a diviner day - the spirit of bright beams.

New ringlets form the flowing winds amid
The native curls of her resplendent hair;
Her eye is fixed in self-reserve, and hid
Are all love's treasures with a miser's care;
The rival roses, upon cheeks more fair

Than morning light, their mingling tints dispose;
But on her lips, from which the amorous air
Of Paradise exhales, the crimson rose

Its sole and simple bloom in modest beauty throws.

Crude as the grape unmellowed yet to wine,

Her bosom swells to sight: its virgin breasts, Smooth, soft, and sweet, like alabaster shine, Part bare, part hid, by her invidious vests; Their jealous fringe the greedy eye arrests, But leaves its fond imagination free

To sport, like doves, in those delicious nests,
And their most shadowed secrecies to see,
Peopling with blissful dreams the lively phantasy.

As through pure water or translucent glass
The sunbeam darts, yet leaves the crystal sound,
So through her folded robes unruffling pass
The thoughts, to wander on unforbidden ground:
There daring Fancy takes her fairy round,
Such wondrous beauties singly to admire;
Which, in a pleasing fit of transport bound,
She after paints and whispers to desire,

And with her charming tale foments th' excited fire.

Praised and admired, Armida passed amid

The wishful multitude, nor seemed to spy, Though well she saw the interest raised, but hid In her deep heart the smile that to her eye Darted in prescience of the conquests nigh. Whilst in the mute suspense of troubled pride She sought, with look solicitous yet shy,

For her uncertain feet an ushering guide

To the famed captain's tent, young Eustace pressed her side.