And told you tales of old romance,
And legends of the Scottish border -
And couched, in sport, a mimic lance,
Against some castle's giant warder.

And, eager to apply our lore,

Displaying thus our mental progress, It was not very long before

We found aunt Grizzy was an ogress. If not, how came she to demand

My long confinement in the garret, Because, with fowling-piece in hand, I happened to destroy her parrot?

The harp of wild Romance is still

No more, in castle hall, 't is ringing ; Cold sweeps the breeze o'er wood and hill, Through desolated towers singing;

Of buried dead, forgotten deeds,

A broken story wildly telling, Waving the melancholy weeds,

That cling around the feudal dwelling.

Our world has none of these; no keep,
Time-shattered, lifts o'er summer bowers;
No spirit-haunted rivers sweep,

Blue, dark, and deep, round ruined towers. Yet, though the eye on Nature's face

Sees no worn landmark in its glancing, Though here the fairies have no place → It cannot hinder our romancing.

Had I lived in the good old days,

I should have sought and won the laurel

Instead of the Parnassian bays,

By getting up a famous quarrel, With some oppressive sorcerer;

Or clad in armor, bright and pliant, Helmed, gauntleted, with knightly spur, Have run, full tilt, against a giant.

These dreams have melted into air

'Tis difficult such shapes to summon ;

Giants are growing very rare,

And broken heads are quite uncommon.

A giant came, some years ago,

From Canada - he was n't savage

In Julien Hall a quiet show,

With no propensity to ravage.

Of the bright past, I do not shrink
To call myself an ardent lover-
Or sigh, with Edmund Burke, to think
The days of chivalry are over.

SCENES IN EUROPE.

LAGO MAGGIORE. MILAN. TOUR IN LOMBARDY.

WE Come suddenly upon the lake, without having any previous view of it. It is beautifully situated among the mountains, which retire gently from its shores, and leave room for numerous villages and towns, along the margin and on the hill-side. At Bareno, we hired a boat, to make an excursion on the lake, and visit some of the islands.

The first we went to, was the Isola Madre. It is a beautiful garden, with a small country-house upon it-rich with various plants and fruits, and commanding a fine view of the lake.

From this, we went to the Isola Bella, which is occupied by the palace and gardens of the count Borromeo. The palace is a vast edifice, where we wandered through a labyrinth of magnificent saloons, lofty and spacious, opening into each other, adorned with paintings, statues, and rich furniture; the floors of mosaic, and the ceiling and walls painted in fresco. On one side, the walls of the edifice rise from the lake, so that the balconies, projecting from the windows, overhang its waters.

A delightful freshness prevailed there; and, as I roamed through the halls, I drew happy omens of what I was yet to see in Italy, when so superb a monument of taste and art met me on the very threshold. The garden is rich with various plants, of every clime and country; but I was most interested by two laurel trees, of immense size, said to be the largest in Europe. In the shade of these trees, Napoleon dined, the day before the battle of Marengo. While at dinner, the plan of the battle was brought him; and, having examined it, he got up and cut the word battaglia on one of the trees. I saw the place where he had cut the letters, but they have been effaced by British travelers. I gathered a leaf from the tree, as a memorial of the place.

Resuming our way, we traveled all the day along the lake, and at night reached the little town of Sesto Calende, on the frontiers of Lombardy. The next morning, having parted from my companion, I continued my journey, alone, toward Milan. Crossing the river Ticino, by a magnificent bridge, of white stone, I en

a thing

tered the fertile province of Lombardy. Everything appeared verdant and flourishing; for, although months had passed without rain, still the fields had been preserved green and fresh by turning aside numerous streams, and thus overflowing them easily done, in so level a country. This added much to the beauty of the country: little rivulets were flowing in every direction over the meadows, and leaped along the road-side; and the sound was refreshing in this hot weather. Towards night, I arrived at the gate of the city; and winding through a labyrinth of streets - which would have puzzled Dedalus himself and passing many a palace, church, and square, at length rested at the door of my hotel.

The first thing was, to take a look at the streets, which are uncommonly clean-each one having a subterranean passage for the water. The houses also, in general, are very handsomehaving a large court in the centre, and their floors of stone; the rooms, also, are lofty and well aired.

My attention, however, was soon attracted to the magnificent cathedral, called the eighth wonder of the world,' and said to be the finest church in Italy, after St. Peter's. It is an immense gothic pile of white marble, in the form of a cross, covered with sculpture and rich ornaments. Imagination can hardly conceive the work, which has been lavished upon this glorious building; every part is rich with ornament; beautiful statues rest on every projection; its hundred of spires are crowned with them—and the idea of the labor and cost of this work of centuries, is truly astounding. The interior is not less magnificent. The eye seems hardly to reach the lofty, fretted ceiling; the rich marble of the shrines, the colossal statues, the carving, the immense organ, the sublime and solemn windows, of stained glass, are all befitting the house of God.

Beneath the floor of the cathedral, is the chapel of San Carlo Borromeo, the patron Saint of the city the most magnificent structure of the kind in the world. It is a chamber, whose ceiling and walls are composed chiefly of silver and gold. The roof is a richly embossed plate of pure silver, studded with gold. Large pannels, composed of silver and gold, in basso-relievo, of exquisite workmanship - representing the various events in the life of the Saint-adorn the sides of the chamber. These pannels are supported by beautiful pilasters, of pure silver-between which, is the richest stuff of cloth of gold. On a marble altar, at one end of this glittering chamber, reposes the body of the Saint, in a sarcophagus of crystal, enclosed within another, of massive silver, richly ornamented with gold. The weight of silver thus used is immense; but the workmanship was even more costly than the material.

Among the most interesting places I have visited in this beautiful city, are the palace of Brera, and the Ambrosian library each of which contains some very valuable paintings, by the first masters. I was gratified by finding in the gallery of Brera the original of that beautiful piece, by Raffaelle, the marriage of the Virgin, of which I had seen many engravings and copies.

But the piece which afforded me most pleasure, in this gallery, was one by Guercino da Cento, representing the dismissal of Hagar and her child by Abraham. The eye turns from the figure of Sarah, scornful as it is, and from the venerable countenance of the patriarch, to contemplate the surpassing beauty of Hagar. There is something superb and almost superhuman in her face. No trace of voluptuousness, or passion-unless it be pride-is there discoverable; all is spiritual. She bows to the will of the old man, as to the decree of fate; deep sorrow rests on her countenance, yet does not conceal the expression of strong sense of wrong received; perhaps there may be traced the intensity of rage, repressed alone by the majestic presence of the patriarch: but, withal, the beauty of the woman is so perfect, so intellectual, so glorious, that I never can forget it. I saw many other very superb paintings here; but, were I to attempt describing them, my labor would be too great, and the details tedious.

6

In the Ambrosian library, I saw the famous 'Cartoon,' by Raffaelle; the School of Athens,' and several beautiful paintings of Titian's. Among other curiosities, the librarian showed me the copy of Virgil, owned by Petrarch- and on the cover of which, he has written, with his own hand, the story of his love. Another manuscript was showed me, of very early date. It was more than a thousand years old.

I spent nearly a week in this magnificent city, during which time I visited many temples and palaces, which-mock at descrip

A feeling of wonder constantly comes over my mind, that there is so much wealth and splendor in the world. I cannot attempt to give an account of all I have seen or am seeing.

I visited one painting, however, in Milan, so famous that it would be an unpardonable omission not to speak of it. I refer to the painting, by Leonardo da Vinci, of the Last Supper.' Engravings of this, are seen in almost every house in America; and I was well pleased to behold the original. In a long room, belonging to an ancient convent, now used as a barrack for Austrian troops, I found this famed piece. It is painted in fresco, and extends entirely across one side of the room. Time and the rude hand of man have done much to dim and deface this superb work; yet its beauty is still great. The faces are uninjured, except that the colors are not so bright as at a former period. From Milan I took a carriage for Venice-the road passing