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warrant Mr. T.'s supposition, that Dante has misinterpreted or misquoted Virgil; as the Mantuan bard, after relating the former circumstances of the seer's life, might very properly at last, in mentioning his name, refer Dante to his Æneid, “in some part of which I sung of him.” We come now to the last of the disputed passages

Sappi ch' io son Bertram del Bornio, quelli

Che diede al Rè Giovanni i ma' conforti.---C. xxviii. Mr. T. translates “ he who gave evil counsel to king John.” He has, therefore, no right to find fault with Mr. Cary, for rendering the passage in a similar manner; the only manner, indeed, in which it can be rendered, without altering the text. But reading Mr. Tarver's note to this passage, in his second volume, we find his objection explained. He does not mean that Mr. C. should have translated differently from what he has done himse.f, but that he should have noticed, in his note, the apparently palpable historical error in the text. It appears clearly, from history, that Bertrand de Born, Vicomte de Hautefort, in the county of Perigord, a valiant knight and a troubadour, was the friend of Henry the Second of England's three elder sons, Henry, Richard (afterwards Richard I.), and Geoffroy. He excited the young Henry to revolt against his father, in which attempt the Prince was supported by his two brothers, as well as by Queen Eleanor's instigations. But the undutiful son was disappointed in his ambitious expectations, and soon after died at the castle of Martel, in France. John, Henry's youngest son had no share in this revolt against his father ; while, on the other hand, Prince Henry was known on the Continent by the name of the Young King, il Rè Giovane. The history of these dissentions in the royal family of England was well known in Italy at the time of Dante, and mention of it is made in two of the old Novelle. It would seem strange, therefore, that Dante, a travelled man, and well versed in history, could have made the error of attributing to Prince, afterwards King John, what evidently concerns Prince Henry. Crescimbené was the first who noticed the error, and after him Ginguené, who proposed to substitute

Che diedi al Rc Giuvane i ma' conforti. But the verse would then be too glaringly defective in prosody. An error there is in the text, and Mr. Tarver attributes the error to Dante, who might have confused with Henry's rebellion the subsequent revolt of Richard against his father, in which Prince John was implicated, causing thereby the death of his father, by głief.

We may, perhaps, suggest another solution of the difficulty, from a new text of the Divina Commedia, published lately at Udine, by Mr. Viviani, founded on a MS. discovered in the library of the Commendatore Bertolini, and written, perhaps, during the lifetime of Dante, who lived some time at Udine, having been called there by the Patriarch Pagano della Torre, or Torriano ; and where he corrected the two first parts of his poem, and composed the Paradiso. Tradition says that Dante used often to wander in the romantic country about Udine, and to the Grotto of Tolmino, where a stone is still pointed at, on which he used to sit, absorbed in the contemplation of the wild Alpine beauties which surrounded him.

Mr. Viviani has compared the Bartolinian MS. with sixty-six others, from the principal libraries in the North of Italy; one, belonging to Marquis Trivulzio, of Milan, bears the date of 1337* Now, with regard to the passage in question, Mr. Viviani reads

Che al Re Giovane diedi i ma' conforti. By which both the sense and the prosody become correct; and the learned Mr. Salfi, one of the best living authorities in these matters, approves of the alteration.

With regard to the minor charges brought by the critic against Mr. Tarver, we should think the latter gentleman must know something of his native language, and that therefore his mode of spelling has not been adopted by him on slight grounds. The fact is, that many double consonants are now retrenched in modern French writing, and that Calchas may be spelled either with or without the h. As for the genitive dell' Inferno, is not used as a nominative in the title-page, which bears the title l'Inferno; but in the half-title, Mr. Tarver has adopted the former case, and this is not inconsistent. Before dell' Inferno may be understood cantica, poem, vision, &c. The titles of many Italian books begin with the genitive case. Perticari wrote lately a work under the title “ Della Vita e de' Fatti di Guidobaldo, libri xii. Goja, del Merito o dalle Ricompense; Beccaria, dei Delitti e Pene,” after which the nomina

be either expressed or understood. In the same manner Virgil styles his poems Æneidos, and Delille translates it hy l’Enéide.

Here we will close our review of Mr. Tarver's book, that we are persuaded Mr. T. never thought of entering the lists with Mr. Cary, their works being of a too different character from each other. The latter gentleman's version is a beautiful poem, and wonderfully close to the original withal. Mr. T.'s translation is a production of humbler pretensions, but when coupled with his volume of excellent notes, it constitutes a work of the greatest utility to those who wish to study the Divina Commedia in its original language. Mr. Tarver's critique of some passages of the former version, although, perhaps, not sufficiently explicit in its wording, was of a temperate nature, and such, we think, as could give no offence, much less draw upon him any obloquy, and expose him to the ridicule which flippancy and misconception have endeavoured to throw upon him. He wished to show that a poetical version cannot give such a clear idea of many obscure passages as a literal prosaic interpretation, accompanied by copious notes; and this seems to us a self-evident position.

* See Revue Encyclopédique for September, 1$24.

tive may

We repeat, To Frederic Vernon, Esq.

MY DEAR EDITOR,

It is with heartfelt regret that I announce my inability to furnish any further aid to No. VI. than is contained in the accompanying song. I could explain the causes of this my deficiency, and lament the effect, for whole pages of sorrow and wirewove; but what would explanation or regret avail ? There is a power which none can resist, even the Saxon deity Must, called by the Romans Necessity, and whom the late Emperor of the French apostrophized in his bulletins by the name of Destiny. To this imperious divinity even editors must render willing or unwilling submission.

I will not quarrel with you for posting up Cave canem over my Shelley; nor even for putting words into my mouth, like the widow of Tekoa of old. The ery raised against Shelley by the official makers and menders of errors in criticism, politics, and theology, had so pre-occupied the minds of men, that it is no marvel that a well-meaning editor, like yourself, and naturally solicitous for the reputation of his work, should be startled at the idea of admitting even an attempt at his vindication. I will not carry my courtesy so far, as to own myself convinced by your arguments. There, however, let them stand, with the criticism to which they belong—the bane and the antidote, side by side. I have little anxiety as to the result, at least with those who do not come predetermined to be guided by the opinions of persons wiser and better than themselves.

I have to apologise to E. H. Barker for having annoyed him (as appears from a late classical journal) by a heedless and somewhat slighting allusion to his article on Nightingales. I feel the more compunction for this, inasmuch as Mr. B. has not been fairly and charitably used by the critics; and this might wear an appearance of insulting the undeservedly fallen. Mr. Barker is a man of extensive reading, and, what is much more, a benevolent and worthy man—of this I have convincing evidence—and therefore it is, that I have expressed my contrition for the unintentional offence. I beg leave to assure him, however, that if I did not respect him sincerely, I should not laugh at him. I can afford to be amused by the failings of individuals, only when there is no danger of such amusement interfering with the kindlier feelings I bear towards them. But why will Mr. Barker render himself obnoxious to ridicule? why will he persist in quoting where he

ought to refer, and making his quotations five times as long as is necessary * ? I respect the unpretending worth of indexes and lexicons, and I can easily believe that the Bury and Norwich Post may be an able and independent paper; but why will he not be content with considering the first as merely books of reference, and confining the latter to its proper and legitimate situation on his breakfast-table ?

Yours in haste, as wont,

E. HASELFOOT. Nov, 26.

THRice thro' the gloom of night was heard that fearful denounce

ment, “ Woe to the Magazines ! to the quill-driving people, destruction !" Loud, as when Bow sends forth his cockney-awaking alarms, Rang the voice; from the east to the west, from Princes' to Fleet

street, Rang the redoubling voice, and the soul of the bookmaker trembled. Fearful wax'd the dreams of the English devourer of opium: Sacre! quoth Colburn's Frenchman; O'Doherty, bearer of standards, Newly aris'n from his doxy's embrace, to bespatter Don Juan, Chok'd 'twixt a vow and a d-mn: the Sans-culotte Bramin of

Bridge-street
Dropp'd the half-written puff, and Morris sprang to his pistol.
Far in the caves of the past, the Retrospective Reviewers
Heard, and were pale: doubt seiz’d the bold Commander, misgivings,
Terror unknown before : the long-winded trumpet of
Drown'd in that mightier peal, wax'd weak as 'the quail-pipe of

Proctor.
Fear was in Pall-Mall East:

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Cætera desunt.

* The above remarks do not apply to the article on Nightingales so much as to some others ; it is an amusing miscellany.

SONG OF A PERSIAN GIRL.

I love thee still, my wild gazelle ;

I love thy soft dark eye, More bright than all that prophets tell

Of Houris in the sky.

Come, sport with me one little hour,

And wile my grief away:
If thou wilt share my lonely bower,

I will not weep to-day.

With thee I played in thoughtlessness,

A little laughing child,
And oft thy nestling mute caress

My childish tears beguil’d.

Alas! a few, few fleeting years

Have chang'd my smiles to sighs; And I have wept more bitter tears

Than fall from children's eyes.

A voice, I thought could ne'er betray,

The words which love had spoken: I gave my simple heart away,

And found it wrung and broken.

And all my dreams of hope are fled,

And all is dark before me ;
And I have not one friend to shed

A tear of pity o'er me.

So I will be a child again,

My beautiful gazelle ;
And not a thought of grief or pain,

With thee or me shall dwell:

But I will smile, as once I smil'd,

To watch thy bright black eye ; And I will be a happy child,

Till one of us shall die.

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