of his heroines; and those who are curious about the personal history of the poet, of which his songs "part and parcel," must be referred to higher and more general sources of information.* are Burns used to say, after he had been introduced into society above his own rank in life, that he saw nothing in the gentlemen much superior to what he had been accustomed to; but that a refined and elegant woman was a being of whom he could have formed no previous idea. This, I think, will explain, if it does not excuse, the characteristic freedom of some of his songs. His love is ardent and sincere, and it is expressed with great poetic power, and often with the most exquisite pathos; but still it is the love of a peasant for a peasant, and he woos his rustic beauties in a style of the most entire equality and familiarity. It is not the homage of one who waited, a suppliant, on the throne of triumphant beauty. "He drew no magic circle of lofty and romantic thought around those he loved, which could not be passed without lowering them from stations little lower than the angels."† Still, his faults against taste and propriety are far fewer and lighter than might have been expected from his habits; and as he acknowledged that he could have formed no idea of a woman refined by high breeding and education, we cannot be surprised if he sometimes committed solecisms of *To the "Reliques of Burns, by Cromek;" to the Edition of the Scottish Songs, with notes, by Allan Cunningham; and to Lockhart's Life of Burns. ↑ Allan Cunningham. which he was scarcely aware. For instance, he met a young lady, (Miss Alexander, of Ballochmyle,) walking in her father's grounds, and struck by her charms and elegance, he wrote in her honor his well known song, "The lovely lass of Ballochmyle,” and sent it to her. He was astonished and offended that no notice was taken of it; but really, a young lady, educated in a due regard for the convenances and the bienséances of society, may be excused, if she was more embarrassed than flattered by the homage of a poet, who talked, at the first glance, of "clasping her to his bosom." It was rather precipitating things. CHAPTER XXXII. CONJUGAL POETRY, CONTINUED. MONTI AND HIS WIFE. MONTI, who is lately dead, will at length be allowed to take the place which belongs to him among the great names of his country. A poet is ill calculated to play the part of a politician; and the praise and blame which have been so profusely and indiscriminately heaped on Monti while living, must be removed by time and dispassionate criticism, before justice can be done to him, either as a man or a poet. The mingled grace and energy of his style obtained him the name of il Dante grazioso, and he has left behind him something striking in every possible form of composition,-lyric, dramatic, epic, and satirical. Amid all the changes of his various life, and all the trying vicissitudes of spirits the wear and tear of mind which attend a poet by profession, tasked to almost constant exertion, Monti possessed two enviable treasures;—a lovely and devoted wife, with a soul which could appreciate his powers and talents, and exult in his fame; and a daughter equally amiable, and yet more beautiful and highly gifted. He has immortalized both; and has left us delightful proofs of the charm and the glory which poetry can throw round the purest and most hallowed relations of domestic life. When Monti was a young man at Rome, caressed by popes and nephews of popes, and with the most brilliant ecclesiastical preferment opening before him, all his views in life were at once bouleversé by a passion, which does sometimes in real life play the part assigned to it in romance-trampling on interest and ambition, and mocking at cardinals' hats and tiaras. Monti fell into love and fell out of the good graces of his patrons: he threw off the habit of an abbate,* married his Teresa, in spite of the world and fortune; and instead of an aspiring priest, became a great poet. Teresa Pichler was the daughter of Pichler, * Worn by the young men who are intended for the Church. the celebrated gem engraver. I have heard her described, by those who knew her in her younger years, as one of the most beautiful creatures in the world. Brought up in the studio of her father, in whom the spirit of ancient art seemed to have revived for modern times, Teresa's mind as well as person had caught a certain impress of antique grace, from the constant presence of beautiful and majestic forms: but her favorite study was music, in which she was a proficient; her voice and her harp made as many conquests as her faultless figure and her bright eyes. After her marriage she did not neglect her favorite art; and she, whose talent had charmed Zingarelli and Guglielmi, was accustomed, in their hours of domestic privacy, to soothe, to enchant, to inspire, her husband. Monti, in one of his poems, has tenderly commemorated her musical powers. He calls on his wife during a period of persecution, poverty, and despondency, to touch her harp, and as she was wont, rouse his sinking spirit, and unlock the source of nobler thoughts. Stendi, dolce amor mio! sposa diletta! E de' forti pensier volgi la chiave! There is a resemblance in the sentiment of these verses, to some stanzas addressed by a living English poet to his wife ;—she who, like Monti's Teresa, can strike her harp, till, as a spirit caught in some spell of his own teaching, music itself seems to flutter, imprisoned among the chords,-to come at her will and breathe her thought, rather than obey her touch! Once more, among these rich and golden strings For music is like love, and must be won! &c.* The Italian verses have great power and beauty; but the English lines have the superiority, not in poetry only, but in rhythmical melody. They fall on the ear like a strain from the harp which inspired them-full, and rich, and thrilling sweet,— and not to be forgotten! To return to Monti;-no man had more completely that temperament which is supposed to accompany genius. He was fond, and devoted in his domestic relations; but he was variable in spirits, ardent, restless, and subject to fits of gloom. And how often must the literary disputes and political tracasseries in which he was engaged, have embittered and irritated so susceptible a mind and temper! If his wife were at his side to soothe him with her music, and her smiles, and her tenderness,-it was well, the cloud passed away. If she were *Barry Cornwall. |