erty and labor were the lot that would fall to them afterwards as it had done before. But such calculations never entered their thoughts. They loved their country as men love their mother, because they did. It had been the first thought of their infancy, and would be the last of their old age. They gave their life for it, with the same feeling which leads a lover to sacrifice himself for the woman he loves, seeking no other reward but the joy of dying to save her. Thus passed the night. At length the morning, desired by some, feared by others, but waited for assuredly by all, rose clear and bright beyond the hills of Incontro and Vallumbrosa. When its rays began to penetrate within the houses, and were visible in spite of the red glare of the lamps, there took place in every family what might be called a last parting. Then came tears, embraces, the hurried affectionate adieus of wives and sisters, the benedictions of old men and fathers; then by little and little a murmur spread through the city, a deep sound of voices, footsteps, doors opening and shutting furiously; while the citizens, as they came out armed to join their several standards, exchanged the last farewell, the last glance, with their wives and children, whom they left weeping at the door. Among the gonfaloni of the several divisions, which floated in the wind at wide distances round the piazza, was noted the golden lion of San Giovanni, and among the first was Niccolò with his young men. Deaf to the prayers and tears of his daughters, and the dissuasion of his friends, the resolute old man had determined to be present with the rest on this day, when the final destiny of Flor ence was to be decided. He judged rightly that, if he could not aid with his arm, he might with his example; for what foot could draw back, what heart waver, in the firm and venerable presence of such a man? Having laid aside the Lucco, he was dressed in a shining coat of mail, with a sword at his side, and in his hand a pike. Instead of the capuche he wore an iron skull-cap, beneath which his respected gray hair came out and covered his neck, while his beard, equally white and thick, flowed down upon his breast. His body, no longer bent by years, stood erect upon his loins; and he was set firmly upon his legs, which, though somewhat thin, were strong and of fine proportions. His eye flashed with the fire of youth, and an unwonted flush colored his cheeks. In spite of the tumult, and the various thoughts which occupied the minds of all, many eyes were fixed upon him. They pointed him out to one another with words of affection, wonder, and veneration, while he, unmoved, cast a proud and assured glance around, in which was read indomitable resolution. In the mean time, the flitting shadow of the gonfalone, which floated over his head, now covered him, and extinguished the glitter of his armor, now gliding off to a distance, left it sparkling again in the rays of the sun. We cannot resist the temptation of extracting one more passage : Even when the sun began to decline to the west, and when at length it had sunk under the horizon, and the stars began to appear, Niccolò would not leave the place, in spite of the entreaties of his friends, who could not bear that he should have to endure so much hardship and fatigue; and many of the citizens also, led by his example, passed the hours of sleep in the piazza. It is easy to imagine *A kind of gown. how mournfully those hours passed with all, how full of anxiety and terror, in expectation of the extremity of distress which awaited them on the morrow, especially when, after midnight, a deep silence had succeeded to so much tumult, and nothing was heard in the piazza but the measured tead of the sentinels, the hooting of the owls, roosted on the summit of the tower, and from time to time the striking of the clock, which told the hour. At length, yielding to fatigue, Niccolò began to rest his forehead upon a bed composed of his sons' cloaks, and fell asleep with his head resting on the base of the lion, while they watched, silent and thoughtful, by his side. Two hours before day, the moon, which was on the wane, fell, by degrees, faint and pale, on the buildings towards the east, and illuminated, with an alabaster light, the countenance of the sleeping old man. Lamberto had gently taken off his iron skull-cap, and, to guard him from the cold moisture of the night, had drawn the border of one of the cloaks over his head. The august and placid serenity spread over Niecolò's features, and his long deep breathing, showed that, on the bare ground, and in the extremity of danger, a brave and irreproachable man may find sleep and repose. These demonstrations are rendered vain by the machinations of the Palleschi, and the fate of Florence is in their hands. Niccolò, determined to make one more effort, gathers the Piagnoni together at a nocturnal conference, in the convent of San Marco. The leaders are firm, but the people waver. Niccolo's own workmen alone offer to die with him, but he feels the sacrifice to be useless, and dismisses them with his blessing. At this moment, the infamous Troilo, in order to ruin more completely the party of the Piagnoni, comes forward, and proposes to join the Italian army without the walls, already on bad terms with the Spaniards, and stir them up to insurrection. The proposition is received by Niccolò with a feeling of mingled joy and admiration. By the connivance of the Palleschi, the party pass over to the camp, Troilo contriving to be left behind at the gates, that he may not be compromised in the issue. A skirmish takes place, in which, by the baseness of Malatesta, the Italians are overpowered, while two of the three surviving sons of Niccolò, Averardo and Vieri, fall. Nothing now remains but to seek refuge at a distance from Florence, and the family prepare for their departure. The last evening which they spend in that house, which Niccolò feels that he, at least, must never see again, is described with great truth and pathos, but we must not be tempted to make any extracts. They depart without molestation. Niccolò is too popular to venture to arrest him in Florence, and a plan is accordingly formed to seize upon the whole party in the Montagna. In the mean time, to disarm all suspicion, Troilo accompanies the family. arrive, about midnight, at the country house which Niccolò had ceded to Lamberto by way of dowry, where they have arranged to pass the night. Here they learn, that, under the eaves, at one side of the church, "the great Ferruccio" lies in an obscure and unhonored grave, and notwitstand They ·- ing the lateness of the hour, they determine to "I know what my being prisoner of the pope visit it. They are accompanied by the old stew-means"-and a bitter and disdainful smile curled ard, who undertakes to point out the spot :Mattéo at length stopped close to the side of the ancient church, and placing the lantern on the ground, said, his lip, as if to say, "He can take but little from me now!" Then turning to his sons, and pointing to the grave where Ferruccio was buried, he added, "I have learnt from him how to die-though, perhaps, I did not need it." The old man knew well that it was his own death, not that of his sons, or any one else, that was wanted; but at that moment he remembered Troilo, and the price set, as he fancied, upon his head; and the thought that he was utterly undone, afflicted him beyond measure. Looking round, he sought him with a troubled and anxious eye, and said "I am grieved for you, son Troilo." "Here this brave gentleman was laid." Upon the surface of the soil, a space was marked out, of the length and breadth of a human body of tall stature. The earth appeared newly turned up, and, from the marks which it still retained of the soles of shoes and naked feet, it was plain that it had been diligently trodden down. When Nic colò saw under his very eyes the earth still soaked with the blood of his friend, the man who was to him the sublime ideal of all that is great and virtu- As there was no light except the lantern carried ous in the world, he fell on his knees upon the by Mattéo, objects were indistinctly discerned; and grave. Seized with an universal trembling, he it was some time before he could retrace him. At bent down his head and kissed the humid soil, then length, however, he perceived him at a distance, rested his forehead upon it, and remained motion-standing upright and motionless, his hands folded less, while all his companions did the same. The poor old man was heard to sigh and groan, and at last seen to burst into tears; then, becoming a little more composed, he raised his face and his hands towards heaven, and said, on his breast, and his head bent down; and perceived, also, that he was neither tied, nor guarded by any of the soldiers, careful as they were to prevent the rest from making their escape. The young man's countenance, beautiful as it was by nature, had become at that moment debased and horrible like his crime. Like Cain, Judas, and other enormous sinners, his torment had already begun; that greatest of all torments, remorse, severed entirely from all thought of hope or repentance. Niccolò read his sin, written on his forehead, and noted on the countenances of the soldiers a smile of scorn, which seemed to say, "You need not trouble yourself about him." The veil which had so long hid the truth, was torn asunder, and he saw it revealed in all its tremendous nakedness. He stretched out his hands and arms, tied as they were at the wrists with a rough cord, and with a voice, which even went to the heart of the scoundrels who surrounded him, said, looking at Troilo "Oh! if from the holy and blessed place, where his great soul is now in glory, he deigns to cast a look upon this dark world, he perhaps sees my tears-sees that from the city, for which he shed the last drop of his blood, we exiles, at least, have come to do him this last honor, the only one that we can do in our present misery.-Ferruccio! Ferruccio this, then, is your burying-place! And the Medici, the destroyers of their country, will have one full of honor in San Lorenzo! Will they not be ashamed to leave you here? Will they not at least place a cross over your bones? a stone to tell, Here lies Ferruccio ?"-Then, as if he suddenly regretted having formed such a desire, he corrected himself and said, "But what am I saying? Have I lost my senses? As if you had need of such honors as these!-Let them keep them for their own guilty ashes. Even under their marble monuments the vengeance of God will at last find them out. And do you, in the mean time, brave spirit, if you can hear us, accept this humble homage, a homage which will never be offered to the tombs of your enemies and ours!-As long as the world lasts, the earth of this humble grave will be more But Lisa, poor Lisa! As if a fiery dart had enhonored by the generous and the good than the in-tered into her flesh, she tore herself from the hands solent richness of their sepulchres." of those who held her, with the nervous and convulsive effort of desperate passion, and, rushing towards her father, cried While, with a vehemence of passion which made him seem like one inspired, Niccolò was uttering these words, to which his family listened with reverence, as they knelt by his side, their whole attention fixed upon him alone, six men-at-arms, with drawn swords, came upon them from beneath the portico of the church, followed by about fifty countrymen, armed with pikes, scythes, or staves; and before the party, thus taken unawares, could perceive the attack, they found themselves on the ground, under a heap of men, the points of whose swords or pikes were close to their face, or directed against their throat and breast, caught and held fast by a hundred hands, kept down under the knees and feet of multitudes, while a voice cried out from the midst of the assailants "Whoever moves, is a dead man.-You are the prisoners of the pope!" With that august and venerable aspect, at once firm and elevated, which he always wore, Niccolò replied "And he was a traitor, after all!" In the tone of voice in which these few words were spoken, in the mode of pronouncing them, in the attitude of the miserable old man, there was such a mournful outpouring of the truth, that, repeat it, there arose even in the hearts of those rough and ferocious bullies a feeling of compassion. 66 Why is he a traitor? How?-Who can call my Troilo a traitor? What has he done?" And, unable to run in search of him, for she was soon seized again and held by those from whom she had got away, she threw herself forward, and stretching out her head, looked about everywhere for her husband, while she continued to repeat "Traitor, indeed!-My Troilo a traitor! Oh, father! how can you say such horrible things?and at such a time as this!" But at last she, too, saw him, still in the same place, in the same attitude, with the same countenance, and the same impression which Niccolò had received; the same thought, the same certainty, seized upon Lisa, who felt a shudder like that of death, at the sight of that disfigured countenance. She was obliged to turn away her head, and cover her face with her hands; but soon overcoming that first feeling, and once more beginning to hope, she said to him, weeping, without, however, looking at | of the cuirass, and said with a voice which pierced him, except now and then, by stealthto his very marrow,― 66 Troilo!-Speak! speak!-Do you not hear? -Did you not know what they said?-Why do you still stand there?-What mystery is there in all this?-Troilo! Troilo!-Cannot your miserable Lisa get a word?" And at length, with a burst of unspeakable rage, she exclaimed "Wretch tell me at least that it is true!-that you are a traitor-it will at least end this uncertainty!" Troilo made no answer, but shrugged his shoulders, retreated, and was soon lost in the shades of night. Lisa grew white, and cold as a marble statue; her arms dropped listlessly down; and she too said to herself "He was a traitor !" 6 "Do you remember, young man, how Selvaggia has loved you from the day that she first knew you? that night on the banks of the Po, do you remember with what prayers-humble prayers, Lamberto-she asked, not love, for she thought herself unworthy of it, but a little compassion!-do you remember it?-did you grant the request? No, you denied it—was Selvaggia indignant?-did she curse you? She blessed you, and departed; she troubled you no more; for she thought, I am not, perhaps, worthy even of this.' But poor Selvaggia was not entirely hopeless. Without your knowing it, she inquired after you, found out where you went, followed you, but never came near you again till the day of that battle, when she saw a pike thrust against your heart-when, as you know, there was no escape for you! In my breast did I receive the weapon, and the cold steel which pierced my entrails seemed to me a delight-you were saved, and I had ceased to suffer so I then believed. Wretched creature! my sufferings had not even begun! Tumbled into the sea, dying in the hold of a galley, in the stench of a hospital, in the mud of a public street, dragging myself on, mile after mile, in weakness and sickness, in rain, wind, and cold, in hunger, in destitution, and yet always Niccolò is led back to Florence, with Lisa and for I am not so mad as you think me-not love, but on, on, hoping from you-not love; I repeat it, the maid-servant, the former being lodged in prison, pity, a word, a look of compassion. Arrived at the latter sent to their own house. Lamberto and Florence, I interested myself a thousand ways in Laudomia, accompanied by Maurice, Bindo, and your behalf-suffered, waited. At length I found Fanfulla, are taken by the escort of Troilo and you, you know how; I dreaded to speak; I felt as Selvaggia to a retired castle among the Apen-humbled myself, lay down under your feet. And if in the presence of a god-I made myself little, Then sinking down at Niccolò's feet as if she were dead, with her forehead resting upon the earth, she said in a spent voice "And I, wretch that I am, was the cause of all!" The old man replied, "It is too true!" and the soldiers, who now felt it too painful to witness such a scene, moved off, conducting their prisoners to the house which they had left a little before. nines. The men are bound hand and foot in a subterraneous dungeon, Lamberto a little apart. Laudomia is conducted to a solitary chamber. The soldiers are then dismissed; even the bailiff of the castle departs; and the two who remain behind draw the bar across the entrance. The prisoners are thus left to the mercy of Troilo and Selvaggia. We transcribe the scene which follows: "If we are not safe here," said Troilo, as they stood looking at one another, “we should be safe nowhere. Here we are, then, Selvaggia, let us look to ourselves, and each manage his own con yet you had the heart- -were you not ashamed to outrage me thus? How is it that you did not die with shame?" And here the poor creature, stretching out her hands to Lamberto, remained for a few moments silent and motionless. thanked and blessed you, but you treated me with "You might have killed me, and I would have scorn and contempt; then I longed to show you that Selvaggia may be hated, killed, but not despised. I thirsted for vengeance, and I have sought it; I have passed days and nights in laboring to obtain it; and at length I have succeeded-Laudomia is here--you are here-you are all in the power of Selvaggia, the courtesan, the offscouring of the world, whom all tread under foot, all hate, who has never met with love or affection-not even in a father." He then proceeded to Laudomia's chamber, while she descended to the dungeon, with the key in one hand, and the bailiff's lantern in the other. She went straight on where Lamberto was seated on the ground in mute despair, thinking of Laudonia, and Here she drew her poniard from its sheath, which praying God to help and protect her, since he could Lamberto believed she was about to strike to his not in any way help and protect her himself. Stop-heart, and overcome by her passionate emotion, ping directly opposite, Selvaggia lifted the lantern burst into a flood of bitter tears. so as to shine full upon her countenance, and said,"It is I !—do you know me, Lamberto?" He did know her, and his heart sank within him. When he remembered the nature of the woman, and the terms on which they last parted, he lost all hope. Filled with anguish, he thought within himself, "O my God! my God! Laudomia is at the mercy of this mad woman!" He did not dare to speak, for he did not know what to say, and he feared to make things worse; but he looked at her with eyes of inexpressible anxiety. Selvaggia placed the lantern on the ground, folded her arms across her breast as if to keep down its throbbing, which appeared in spite "And not even now shall I meet with it!"—and, as she spoke, she cut the cords with which Lamberto was bound: "not even now, when I give you life and liberty, and save the Laudomia whom you love, shall I obtain my first petition, that you would hold me as dear as your hound or your war-horse!" As she finished these words, with a voice no longer severe, but humble and supplicating, Lamberto, loosed from the cords, fell prostrate at her feet, and as he embraced her knees with a mingled feeling of pity, admiration and gratitude, exclaimed in broken accents new expression, that of pure serenity, as she | love you to find, if not love, at least affection-to said,"God of mercy! At length I too can bless thee-I too can thank thee for having created me!" Then, after remaining motionless for a few seconds as if in ecstasy, she let her arms fall, and added, as if speaking to herself, 66 "I had suffered so much!" They cut the cords of the rest, and all rush together to "the yellow chamber," where Troilo, having lost all hope of accomplishing his purpose by other means, is about to proceed to violence. Lamberto dashes him to the ground under his feet. taste for once, only once, before you come to die-a word, a look of kindness; and do you hope to obtain it thus? Obtain it by vengeance?' This has been my vengeance!-Tell me, will you, at least, hold the unhappy creature before you dear?-May I hope it this once?" Laudomia would have risen and rushed into her arms, but her strength failed, and she fell back again into her seat; but she stretched out her hands to Selvaggia, who threw herself into them with a cry of joy, and the two young women long remained clasped in a warm embrace. 66 what is called poetical justice, he has done it in Though it is not D'Azeglio's wont to distribute For some moments no one uttered a word; the the instance of Troilo, and it is almost too satistraitor, terrified, panting, pale as death, and with factory. In the chamber, where the infamous Palstaring eyes, was kept down and held tight by Fan-lesco is left bound, is an aperture in the wall, within fulla and Bindo. Lamberto had left him to run to which there is a trap-door, covering a deep well. Laudomia, who, white as a waxen image, had sunk 'Above was a pulley, from which a cord was susupon her knees, and was raising her eyes to heaven in thanksgiving, feeling that gratitude in her heart, pended, let down deeply into the shaft, from whence which the poor creature was unable to express with there arose the cold, moist air, which often comes her lips. up from cellars, with a dank smell of mouldy Lamberto knelt down by her side, and she re-earth." Maurice, who had lingered behind while mained for a moment with her head resting upon the rest were preparing for their departure, is sudhis shoulder, scarcely able to keep herself from denly struck with a new idea. "He went straight fainting. Selvaggia, perceiving this, brought some to the opening, shook the rope, and discovered the wine from the table, a draught of which Laudomia drank, and after a little time the color returned to depth of the shaft. He laid his hand upon the cord, and began to draw it up. Up, and up it came; but it seemed as if the end of it would never appear. Troilo, in the mean time, seized with an universal trembling, an indescribable horror at what was thus preparing for him, had begun to pray, conjure, promise; he had thrown himself upon his knees as far as the rope which bound him permitted, and, quite beside himself with terror, had uttered horrible things, disjointed words, in which there was neither sense nor meaning; howled, roared, bellowed; and still Maurice went on pulling the rope, and all that he said was"— her cheeks. "You are safe, my love!" said Lamberto, every muscle of his face quivering with the fulness of his joy. "Oh, for the love of God! let us go!" said Laudomia in a faint voice, for the sight of the place and of Troilo filled her with horror; and rising, though with difficulty, assisted by Lamberto, and supported also by Selvaggia, she left the chamber. Having dragged herself along with tottering steps into the next room, she sank quite spent into an arm-chair, and laying her hands upon the shoulders of Lamberto, who was at her feet, regarded him with a look of unspeakable affection. Poor Selvaggia, who was a little behind, drew back, and with what feelings the reader may imagine. "Do you know," said Lamberto, "who set me at liberty, who has saved your life and honor? There she stands-she of whom I have so often spoken to you, she whose happiness you had so much at heart-Selvaggia." "Messer Troilo, make an act of contrition-You deserve to die in the water." At length the bottom of the cord came out, to which was tied a rusty hook, foul with mould. Troilo, quite overcome, fell prostrate; but though his strength failed, his senses unhappily did not. Maurice tied the rope underneath his arms as ex "Oh!" said Laudomia, starting, "is that Sel-peditiously as possible, (for he wished the business vaggia?" And all of a sudden the whole of her wretched story recurred to her mind; and, thinking of the anguish which she must feel at seeing her thus with Lamberto, she withdrew her arms, with an instantaneous and delicate impulse, and, joining her hands in the attitude of prayer, said, as she turned to the poor creature, with a countenance which seemed to implore her pardon, "Oh, Selvaggia! I did not, I could not know it." over, and so do we,) cut the cord which tied him to the bedpost, and, taking him up in his arms, thrust him into the shaft, which was just large enough to admit him. The unhappy wretch struggled in vain to get free; and, hanging to the rope which ran swiftly through Maurice's hand, was let down into that fearful depth. In a minute's time the cord was at its full length, when Maurice disengaged it from the pulley, threw it down into the shaft, with Troilo's cap, which was still lying on the ground, closed the trapdoor, and-falling on his knees, said, with as much devotion as he could, a miserere for Troilo's soul. Probably, however, the scoundrel did not meet with so speedy a death, but he had time to make many reflections, which we may leave the reader to imagine. "Yes, it is I," she replied, advancing; and her voice, her countenance, her gesture, showed the terrible suffering which oppressed her heart. "It is I," she continued, "who long cherished a dreadful desire of vengeance against Lamberto-against you! But at last I said to myself, What have you been searching for, unhappy creature, so many years? To find one who would not hate you-would not Worn out with illness and suffering, Laudomia hold you in contempt-to find a heart which could is now conveyed by her friends to the priest's this! house for quiet and repose, and the scene shifts | he brought himself? To the last, fruitless sacrifice to Florence and Niccolò. We must give copious of the few hours of life that remained! And all extracts from this part of the book, for it is in the that long suffering, all those sacrifices, all those closing scenes of his life that the sublime charac- misfortunes, had obtained from eternal justice only ter of the noblest of the Piagnoni shines so grandly forth; all that had been harsh and repulsive in it then disappears, lost in the golden light which surrounds him like a halo of glory. These mournful thoughts revolving in Niccolò's mind, who, in spite of his iron temperament, could not fail to be overcome by fatigue, watching, and mental agitation, were leading him imperceptibly to before which his vital strength was giving way. His first entrance to the prison is thus de-a chain of ideas still more dark and disconsolate, scribed: His faith in the justice and goodness of God, his faith in the prophecies of Fra Girolamo, which, like a ray of celestial light, had been for so many years his guide and comfort, seemed on the point of growing dark, and disappearing in a thick mist, full of doubt and terror. "Suppose all that I have hoped, all that I have believed, for ninety years, should be only a deception!" He ascended with a firm though weary step; his countenance, though grave, was tranquil and serene. Having reached the upper landing-place, he was led through a long passage to a low and narrow door, which, when the jailer half opened, he was obliged to stoop low to enter in. It was a dungeon about eight paces in length and breadth, where, through a hole above, a few rays of light A groan of agony burst from Niccolo's breast, were seen between the bars of a thick iron grate. when, in spite of his efforts to close the door of his A miserable bed, consisting of a sack full of chop-heart against despairing thoughts, he felt them rush ped straw, still preserved the form of the pris-in with terrible force, as the enemy pour into a oner who had slept there last; on the floor stood a pitcher. "See if there is any water," said the jailer to one of his men, who, having looked, answered"It is full. Carduccio could not have been thirsty; for he has not even touched it." Niccolò started at that name, and asked, anxiously "Was he, then, here?" Here the turnkeys departed, shutting the door of the dungeon with a great noise of keys and bolts, and left the old man in darkness. Standing as he was in the middle of the cell, he raised his arms in the attitude of prayer, and said 66 "O Francesco! thou hast fulfilled thy sacrifice. May thy brave soul rest in peace!" Then, groping his way to the bed, he sat down, took the pitcher, and drank a few mouthfuls of water, determined to seek sleep and repose if it were possible, and recover, as much as in him lay, a little strength. "Let not this body of mine, this worn-out instrument, shame me in the hour of trial! Help me, O God! to bear what is preparing for me! Thou knowest my soul, but thou knowest also the state to which my poor limbs are reduced; infuse strength enough into them to bear up, without any act of cowardice, during the few steps which now separate them from the tomb!" fortress long defended, but now resisting in vain. For the first time in ninety years he knew what terror was. The hopes of a whole life, both for this world and the next, seemed to shake and totter. He sought in vain, either in the present or the future, a sensation which was not pain, a thought which was not darkness and uncertainty. Sitting up in the bed, and raising his hands to heaven, he cried "Deus meus, quare deliquisti me?" What Niccolò was destined to serve as an example of the pitch to which, in this life, misfortune may come, and the strength with which, even then, man may obtain the victory. With that desperate effort of the will which had always been his characteristic virtue, he willed to drive away those ideas; and he did. He willed to have others of a totally different kind; and he had them. He restrained his unbridled thoughts, and said to himself, "Who am I, to judge the Being that made me and all men-who made heaven and earth, and the universe? impious madness, to say that he cannot, or will not, care for the least of his creatures, because he cannot descend so low! Is not this to limit his power, and bring him down to our own measure? not all creatures equally atoms? Are they not as nothing, in the presence of his immensity? Does it cost him more to roll the sun and stars through the firmament, than to give form and motion to the Since, then, thou hast created minutest insect? me, do thou care, great God, even for me. Aid Are the immortal soul which is about to return to the place from whence it came! Pardon the doubts of the understanding which thou hast formed! Thou He stretched himself at full length upon the pal-hast not made it able to comprehend thee; but, as let, and, composing himself to sleep, lay quite still a compensation for all the evil that has fallen upon in order to court it; but how could a mind filled to me, thou hast placed in my heart, I feel it, the overflowing with a thousand thoughts, and a heart power of hoping in thee, and in thy mercy! Yes, agitated by a thousand emotions, be lulled to rest? iny God, I hope-I trust in thy goodness-I throw The tranquillity of an unsullied conscience cannot myself into thy arms, on thy paternal bosom, ensure this, nor is sleeplessness confined to remorse where I shall perhaps one day know why I have alone. How was it possible that, finding himself had so much to suffer here!" now at the end of a long and harassed life, full of such stor ny events, consumed as he was by one ardent thought, that of his country, there should not pass before him, in thick and long array, all the events of those many years, the baffled designs, the imprudent counsels, the cross accidents in short, through which, after so many efforts, so much agitation and bloodshed, Florence had fallen again under the gripe of the Medici? And to what was Hope, that celestial friend of the afflicted, descended thus into the heart of the poor old man, and shed abroad there a charm not felt before, a tranquil serenity which gave him both strength and comfort. He seemed to be transported to a higher region, far from the miseries of this lower world to be freed from its cares and passions, and lost in the contemplations of a better life. We have not room for the trial, and we shrink |