For never since her beauty blush'd with spring,
Had passion's self dared aught except adore.
To render the fond step an honest thing,

The priest was call'd to read the service o'er, (For without marriage what can come but strife?)73 And the bride-mother was the shepherd's wife.

All was perform'd, in short, that could be so
In such a place, to make the nuptials good;
Nor did the happy pair think fit to go,

But spent the month and more within the wood.
The lady to the stripling seem'd to grow;
His step her step, his eyes her eyes pursued ;
Nor did her love lose any of its zest,
Though she was always hanging on his breast.

In doors and out of doors, by night, by day,
She had the charmer by her side forever:
Morning and evening they would stroll away,
Now by some field, or little tufted river;
They chose a cave in middle of the day,
Perhaps not less agreeable or clever

Than Dido and Eneas found to screen them, When storm and tempest would have rush'd between them.

And all this while there was not a smooth tree, That drew from stream or fount its gentle pith, Nor stone less hard than stones are apt to be, But they would find a knife to carve it with. And in a thousand places you might see, And on the walls about you and beneath, ANGELICA AND MEDORO, tied in one, As many ways as lover's knots could run.

And when they thought they had outspent their time,

Angelica the royal took her way,

She and Medoro, to the Indian clime,

To crown him king of her fair realm, Cathay.

T

A DEPRECATION OF THE NAME OF

JOHN.

FROM THE ITALIAN OF CASA.

WERE I Some fifteen years younger or twenty,
Master Gandolfo, I'd unbaptize myself,
On purpose not to be called John. I never
Can do a single thing in the way of business,
Nor set out fast enough from my own door,
But half-a-dozen people are calling after me;
Though, when I turn, it isn't me; such crowds
Are issuing forth, nam'd John, at the same moment.

'Tis downright insult; a mere public scandal. Clergymen,74 lawyers, pedants, not a soul, But his name's John. You shall not see a face, Looking like what it is, a simpleton's

Barber's, porkman's, or tooth-drawer's,—but the fellow,

Seems by his look to be a John,-and is one!
I verily think, that the first man who cried
Boil'd apples or maccaroni, was a John;

And so was he who found out roasted chestnuts,
And how to eat cucumbers, and new cheese.
By heavens! I'd rather be a German;_nay,
I'd almost said a Frenchman; nay, a Jew,
And be called Matthew, or Bartholomew,
Or some such beast,--or Simon. Really people
Who christen people, ought to pause a little,
And think what they're about.-O you who love

me,

Don't call me John, for God's sake; or at least,
If you must call me so, call it me softly;
For as to mentioning the name out loud,
You might as well call after one like a dog,—
Whistle, and snap your fingers, and cry,
boy."

66

Here,

Think of the name of John upon a title-page! It damns the book at once; and reasonably: People no sooner see it, than they conclude They've read the work before.-Oh I must say My father made a pretty business of it, Calling me John! me, 'faith-his eldest son ! Heir to his-poverty! Why there's not a writ, But nine times out of ten, is serv'd on John, And what still more annoys me, not a bill: Your promiser to pay is always John.

Some people fondly make the word a compound, And get some other name to stand its friend, Christening the haplesss devil John-Antony, John-Peter, or John-Baptist, or John-Charles: There's even John-Barnard, and John-Martin !— Oh,

See if the other name likes his society!

It never does, humour it as you will.

Change it, diminish it, call it Johnny, or Jacky, Or Jack, 'tis always a sore point,-a wound ;Shocking, if left alone, and worse, if touch'd.

MY DEAR JOHN,

I cannot send you, as I could wish, a pipe of Tuscan wine, or a hamper of Tuscan sunshine, which is much the same thing; so in default of being able to do this, I do what I can, and send you, for a new year's present, a translation of a Tuscan bacchanal.

May it give you a hundredth part of the elevation which you have often caused to the heart of

Your affectionate Brother,

FLORENCE, January 1st, 1825.

LEIGH HUNT.

BACCHUS IN TUSCANY.

THE Conqueror of the East, the God of Wine,

Taking his rounds divine,

Pitch'd his blithe sojourn on the Tuscan hills; And where the imperial seat

First feels the morning heat,

Lo, on the lawn, with May-time white and red,
He sat with Ariadne on a day,

And as he sang, and as he quaff'd away,
He kiss'd his charmer first, and thus he said :-

Dearest, if one's vital tide

Ran not with the grape's beside,
What would life be, (short of Cupid ?)
Much too short, and far too stupid.
You see the beam here from the sky
That tips the goblet in mine eye;
Vines are nets that catch such food,
And turn them into sparkling blood.
Come then-in the beverage bold
Let's renew us and grow muscular;
And for those who're getting old,
Glasses get of size majuscular:
And in dancing and in feasting,
Quips, and cranks, and worlds of jesting,
Let us, with a laughing eye,
See the old boy Time go by,
Who with his eternal sums

Whirls his brains and wastes his thumbs.

Away with thinking! miles with care!
Hallo, you knaves! the goblets there.

Gods my life, what glorious claret! Blessed be the ground that bare it!

'Tis Avignon. Don't say 66 a flask of it;" Into my soul I pour a cask of it!

Artimino's finer still,

Under a tun there's no having one's fill:
A tun! a tun!

The deed is done.

And now, while my lungs are swimming at will All in a bath so noble and sweet,