it before, I could have composed my poem. The enthusiasm of the imagination would have overpowered the sentiment. As it is, I have finished my Elegy; and this day I send it to the press at Pisa. You shall have a copy the moment it is completed. I think it will please you. I have dipped my pen in consuming fire for his destroyers; otherwise the style is calm and solemn. Pray, when shall we see you? Or are the streams of Helicon less salutary than sea-bathing for the nerves? Give us as much as you can before you go to England, and rather divide the term than not come soon. Mrs. wishes that none of the books, desk, &c., should be packed up with the piano; but that they should be sent, one by one, by Pepi. Address them to me at her house. She desired me to have them addressed to me, why I know not. A droll circumstance has occurred. Queen Mab, a poem written by me when very young, in the most furious style, with long notes against Jesus Christ, and God the Father, and the king, and bishops, and marriage, and the devil knows what, is just published by one of the low booksellers in the Strand, against my wish and consent, and all the people are at loggerheads about it. H. S. gives me this account. You may imagine how much I am amused. For the sake of a dignified appearance, however, and really because I wish to protest against all the bad poetry in it, I have given orders to say that it is all done against my desire, and have directed my attorney to apply to Chancery for an injunction, which he will not get. I am pretty ill, I thank you, just now; but I hope you are better. Most affectionately yours, P. B. S. Pisa. Saturday, (June 16th, 1821.) were always violent, and his sensibility most keen. It is extraordinary that, proportionally as his strength of body declined, these acquired fresh vigour; and his temper at length became so outrageously violent, as to injure himself, and annoy every one around him. He eagerly wished for death. After leaving England, I believe that he seldom courted the muse. He was accompanied by a friend of mine, Mr. Severn, a young painter, who will, I think, one day be the Coryphæus of the English school. He left all, and sacrificed every prospect, to accompany and watch over his friend Keats. For many weeks previous to his death, he would see no one but Mr. Severn, who had almost risked his own life, by unwearied attendance upon his friend, who rendered his situation doubly unpleasant by the violence of his passions exhibited even towards him, so much, that he might be judged insane. His intervals of remorse, too, were poignantly bitter. I believe that Mr. Severn, the heir of what little Keats left behind him at Rome, has only come into possession of very few manuscripts of his friend. You will be pleased with the information that the poetical volume, which was the inseparable companion of Keats, and which he took for his most darling model in composition, was, the Minor Poems of Shakspeare."" LETTER XLIX. To MR. AND MRS. GISBORNE. Bagni, Friday Night, (July 13th, 1821) MY DEAR FRIENDS,-I have been expecting every day a writ to attend at your court at Guebhard's, whence you know it is settled that I should conduct you hither to spend your last days in Italy. A thousand thanks for your maps; in return for which I send you the only copy of "Adonais" the printer has yet delivered. I wish 1 could say, as Glaucus could, in the exchange for the arms of Diomed,—ἑκατόμβιοι ἐννεαβοίων. I will only remind you of "Faust;" my desire for the conclusion of which is only exceeded by my desire to welcome you. Do you observe any traces of him in the poem I send you? Poets-the best of them, are a very cameleonic race; they take the colour not only of what they feed on, but of the very leaves under which they pass. Mary is just on the verge of finishing her novel; but it cannot be in time for you to take to England.-Farewell. Most faithfully yours, LETTER L. TO MR. AND MRS. GISBORNE. P. B. S. MY DEAREST FRIENDS,-I am fully repaid for the painful emotions from which some verses of my poem sprang, by your sympathy and approbation-which is all the reward I expect--and as much as I desire. It is not for me to judge whether, in the high praise your feelings assign me, you are right or wrong. The poet and the man are two different natures; though they exist together, they may be unconscious of each other, and incapable of deciding on each other's powers and efforts by any reflex act. The decision of the cause, whether or no I am a poet, is removed from the present time to the hour when our posterity shall assemble; but the court is a very severe one, and I fear that the verdict will be, "Guiltydeath!" I shall be with you on the first summons. I hope that the time you have reserved for us, "this bank and shoal of time," is not so short as you once talked of. In haste, most affectionately yours, Bagni, July 19th. LETTER LI. To MRS. SHELLEY. (BAGNI DI PISA.) Tuesday, Lione Bianco, Florence, (August 1st, 1821. MY DEAREST Love, I shall not return this evening; nor, unless I have better success, tomorrow. I have seen many houses, but very few within the compass of our powers; and, even in those which seem to suit, nothing is more difficult than to bring the proprietors to terms. I congratulate myself on having taken the season in time, as there is great expectation of Florence being full next winter. I shall do my utmost to return to-morrow evening. You may expect me about ten or eleven o'clock, as I shall purposely be late, to spare myself the excessive heat. The Gisbornes (four o'clock, Tuesday,) are just set out in a diligence-and-four, for Bologna. They have promised to write from Paris. I spent three hours this morning principally in the contemplation of the Niobe, and of a favourite Apollo; all worldly thoughts and cares seem to vanish from before the sublime emotions such spectacles create; and I am deeply impressed with the great difference of happiness enjoyed by those who live at a distance from these incarnations of all that the finest minds have conceived of beauty, and those who can resort to their company at pleasure. What should we think if we were forbidden to read the great writers who have left us their works! And yet to be forbidden to live at Florence or Rome, is an evil of the same kind, of scarcely less magnitude. I am delighted to hear that the W.'s are with you. I am convinced that Williams must persevere in the use of the doccia. Give my most affectionate remembrances to them. I shall know all the houses in Florence, and can give W. a good account of them all. You have not sent my passport, and I must get home as I can. I suppose you did not receive my note. I grudge my sequins for a carriage; but I have suffered from the sun and the fatigue, and dare not expose myself to that which is necessary for house-hunting. Kiss little babe, and how is he?! but I hope to see him fast asleep to-morrow night. And pray, dearest Mary, have some of your novel prepared for my return. LET To Mus (RAGY DEAREST MINE,-I a vella is ordered for Rav by having made an em arrangement, more tha have arrived at Bolog morning. Though I have trav of two miles and a ha calesso, I am perfectly think that I were the more she knocks me her. I had an overt old horse stumbled, a vetturino into a slope My angular figure stu but my vetturino's spho the bottom of the hill, toms of reluctance in that my ridicule (for it the world) was suppr poor devil had been hur and we continued our jo My love to the Willis and accept an affection The chaise waits. from Ravenna at length me. LETT To MRS. MY DEAREST MARY,o'clock, and sate up talk five this morning. I th awake at eleven, and ha fast as quick as possible, until twelve, when the p Lord Byron is very see me. He has in fact health, and lives a life which he led at Venice. of liaison with Contessa Florence, and seems fro amiable woman. She is thing shall be decided a Switzerland or stay in I termined on either side. escape from the Papal te measures had already be a convent, where she wo ingly confined for life. The oppression of the marriage contract, as existing in the laws and opinions of Italy, though less frequently exercised, is far severer than that of England. I tremble to think of what poor Emilia is destined to. Lord Byron had almost destroyed himself in Venice: his state of debility was such that he was unable to digest any food, he was consumed by hectic fever, and would speedily have perished, but for this attachment, which has reclaimed him from the excesses into which he threw himself from carelessness and pride, rather than taste. Poor fellow! he is now quite well, and immersed in politics and literature. He has given me a number of the most interesting details on the former subject, but we will not speak of them in a letter. Fletcher is here, and as if like a shadow, he waxed and waned with the substance of his master: Fletcher also has recovered his good looks, and from amidst the unseasonable grey hairs, a fresh harvest of flaxen locks put forth. We talked a great deal of poetry, and such matters last night; and as usual differed, and I think more than ever. He affects to patronise a system of criticism fit for the production of mediocrity, and although all his fine poems and passages have been produced in defiance of this system, yet I recognise the pernicious effects of it in the Doge of Venice; and it will cramp and limit his future efforts however great they may be, unless he gets rid of it. I have read only parts of it, or rather he himself read them to me, and gave me the plan of the whole. Lord Byron has also told me of a circumstance that shocks me exceedingly; because it exhibits a degree of desperate and wicked malice for which I am at a loss to account. When I hear such things my patience and my philosophy are put to a severe proof, whilst I refrain from seeking out some obscure hiding-place, where the countenance of man may never meet me more. * * Imagine my despair of good, imagine how it is possible that one of so weak and sensitive a nature as mine can run further the gauntlet through this hellish society of men. You should write to the Hoppners a letter refuting the charge, in case you believe, and know, and can prove that it is false; stating the grounds and proofs of your belief. I need not dictate what you should say; nor, I hope, inspire you with warmth to rebut a charge, which you only can effectually rebut. If you will send the letter to me here, I will forward it to the Hoppners. Lord Byron is not up, I do not know the Hoppners' address, and I am anxions not to lose a post. LETTER LIV. To MRS. SHELLEY. Thursday, 8th August MY DEAREST MARY,-I wrote to you yesterday, and I begin another letter to-day, without knowing exactly when I can send it, as I am told the post only goes once a week. I dare say the subject of the latter half of my letter gave you pain, but it was necessary to look the affair in the face, and the only satisfactory answer to the calumny must be given by you, and could be given by you alone. This is evidently the source of the violent denunciations of the Literary Gazette, in themselves contemptible enough, and only to be regarded as effects, which show us their cause, which until we put off our mortal nature, we never despise that is, the belief of persons who have known and seen you, that you are guilty of crimes. After having sent my letter to the post yesterday, I went to see some of the antiquities of this place; which appear to be remarkable. This city was once of vast extent, and the traces of its remains are to be found more than four miles from the gate of the modern town. The sea, which once came close to it, has now retired to the distance of four miles, leaving a melancholy extent of marshes, interspersed with patches of cultivation, and towards the seashore with pine forests, which have followed the retrocession of the Adriatic, and the roots of which are actually washed by its waves. The level of the sea and of this tract of country correspond so nearly, that a ditch dug to a few feet in depth, is immediately filled up with sea water. All the ancient buildings have been choked up to the height of from five to twenty feet by the deposit of the sea, and of the inundations, which are frequent in the winter. I went in L. B.'s carriage, first to the Chiesa San Vitale, which is certainly one of the most ancient churches in Italy. It is a rotunda, supported upon buttresses and pilasters of white marble; the ill effect of which is somewhat relieved by an interior row of columns. The dome is very high and narrow. The whole church, in spite of the elevation of the soil, is very high for its breadth, and is of a very peculiar and striking construction. In the section of one of the large tables of marble with which the church is lined, they showed me the perfect figure, as perfect as if it had been painted, of a capuchin friar, which resulted merely from the shadings and the position of the stains in the marble. This is what may be called a pure anticipated cognition of a Capuchin. I then went to the Tomb of Theodosius, which has now been dedicated to the Virgin, without, however, any change in its original appearance. ' We ride out in th It is about a mile from the present city. This forests which divide ti building is more than half overwhelmed by the way of life is this, a elevated sal, alth ugh a portion of the lower myself to it without n story has been excavated, and is filled with brack up at two, breakfasts ish and stinking waters, and a sort of vaporvas six; then we ride, an darkness, and troops of prodigious frogs. It is dinner sit talking till f a remarkable piece of architecture, and without I get up at twelve, an belonging to a period when the ancient taste yet terval between my ris survived, bears, nevertheless, a certain impression L. B. is greatly imp of that taste. It consists of two stories; the lower genius, in temper, in supported on Doric arches and pilasters, and a happiness. The cont simple entablature. The other circular within, been an inestimable be and polygonal outside, and roofed with one single considerable splendou mass of ponderous stone, for it is evidently one, which is now about £4 and Heaven alone knows how they contrived to he devotes to purpose lift it to that height. It is a sort of flattish dome, mischievous passions, rough-wrought within by the chisel, from which subdued, and he is bec the Northern conquerors tore the plates of silver virtuous man. The in that adorned it, and polished without, with things politics of Italy, and th like handles appended to it, which were also consequence of it, are s wrought out of the solid stone, and to which I but are such as will del suppose the ropes were applied to draw it up is not yet decided to g You ascend externally into the second story by a indeed, little fitted for flight of stone steps, which are modern. cabals of those anglicis him, as they did before, into a relapse of liber plunged into not from Guiccioli and her brot and confidant, and ac connexion with him,) wi L. B. says, merely from of travelling. L. B. p and is trying to persuad He has made me write a her to remain an odd stranger to write on subj to his friend's mistress. that I am always to have body's affairs whom I ap in lame Italian, the stro of against the Swiss emig I should be very glad t establishment in Tuscany place; the people are their language the most can imagine. He would better among the Tuscans not like Florence, on acco There is Lucca, Florence, nothing more. What t Pistoia, for him?-no those towns; but I am af found good enough for hin The next place I went to, was a church called la chiesa di Sant' Appollinare, which is a Basilica, and built by one, I forget whom, of the Christian Emperors; it is a long church, with a roof like a barn, and supported by twenty-four columns of the finest marble, with an altar of jasper, and four columns of jasper, and giallo antico, supporting the roof of the tabernacle, which are said to be of immense value. It is something like that church (I forget the name of it) we saw at Rome, fuore delle mura. I suppose the emperor stole these columns, which seem not at all to belong to the place they occupy. Within the city, near the church of San Vitale, there is to be seen the tomb of the Empress Galla Placidia, daughter of Theodosius the Great, together with those of her husband Constantius, her brother Honorius and her son Valentinian-all Emperors. The tombs are massy cases of marble, adorned with rude and tasteless sculpture of lambs, and other Christian emblems, with scarcely a trace of the antique. It seems to have been one of the first effects of the Christian religion to destroy the power of producing beauty in art. These tombs are placed in a sort of vaulted chamber, wrought over with rude mosaic, which is said to have been built in 1300. I have yet seen no more of Ravenna. *San Paolo fuore delle mura-burnt down, and its beautiful columns calcined by the fire, in 1823- now rebuilt. He has read to me one o of Don Juan, which is astonishingly fine. It sets Write to me at Florence, where I shall remain illness of her sposo. How are the Williams's, and Williams especially Give my very kindest love to them. Lord B. has here splendid apartments in the house of his mistress's husband, who is one of the richest men in Italy. She is divorced, with an allowance of 1200 crowns a-year, a miserable pittance from a man who has 120,000 a-year.-Here are two monkeys, five cats, eight dogs, and ten horses, all of whom, (except the horses), walk about the house like the masters of it. Tita the Venetian is here, and operates as my valet ; a fine fellow, with a prodigious black beard, and who has stabbed two or three people, and is one of the most good-natured looking fellows I ever saw. We have good rumours of the Greeks here, and a Russian war. I hardly wish the Russians to take any part in it. My maxim is with Æschylus : τὸ δυσσεβές-μετὰ μὲν πλείονα τίκτει, σφετέρᾳ deikoтa yevvậ. There is a Greek exercise for you. How should slaves produce anything but tyranny -even as the seed produces the plant? Adieu, dear Mary. Yours affectionately, S. LETTER LV. To MRS. SHELLEY. Saturday-Ravenna. MY DEAR MARY,-You will be surprised to hear that L. B. has decided upon coming to Pisa, in case he shall be able, with my assistance, to prevail upon his mistress to remain in Italy, of which I think there is little doubt. He wishes for a large and magnificent house, but he has furniture of his own, which he would send from Ravenna. Inquire if any of the large palaces are to be let. We discussed Prato, Pistoia, Lucca, &c., but they would not suit him so well as Pisa, to which, indeed, he shows a decided preference. So let it be! Florence he objects to, on account of the prodigious influx of English. I don't think this circumstance ought to make any difference in our own plans with respect to this winter in Florence, because we could easily reassume our station with the spring, at Pugnano or the baths, in order to enjoy the society of the noble lord. But do you consider this point, and write to me your full opinion, at the Florence post-office. I suffer much to-day from the pain in my side, brought on, I believe, by this accursed water. In other respects, I am pretty well, and my spirits are much improved; they had been improving, indeed, before I left the baths, after the deep dejection of the early part of the year. I am reading "Anastasius." One would think that |