THE FEAST OF THE VIOLETS.
125
As the sex should most long to see, out of all story,—
The men that have done them most honour and glory.
The men that have done them most honour and glory.
First, Homer Andromache brought, like his child;
And beside them was Helen, who blushingly smil'd:—
Old trav'ller was he, and he walk'd with a sword.
Then Antigone came with the Samian lord,
Close-clinging, yet gentle.—Then Petrarch appear'd,
Looking still on the face by down-looking endear'd;
First exalter of animal passion with mind.
Him follow'd, still modestly keeping behind,
With book under arm, and in scholarly gown,
(Oh! ill have the gross understood his renown!)[1]
Boccaccio, with faces a martyr might bless,
Griselda's among them, the patient excess.
Her look was the sweetest that never knew laughter:
And backward she turn'd tow'rds the shape that came after,
Great Chaucer. As humbly as maiden went he.
Young queens held their diadems of him in fee;
Young mothers and beauties, clear angels of earth;
I know not which grac'd them most, sorrow or mirth.
And beside them was Helen, who blushingly smil'd:—
Old trav'ller was he, and he walk'd with a sword.
Then Antigone came with the Samian lord,
Close-clinging, yet gentle.—Then Petrarch appear'd,
Looking still on the face by down-looking endear'd;
First exalter of animal passion with mind.
Him follow'd, still modestly keeping behind,
With book under arm, and in scholarly gown,
(Oh! ill have the gross understood his renown!)[1]
Boccaccio, with faces a martyr might bless,
Griselda's among them, the patient excess.
Her look was the sweetest that never knew laughter:
And backward she turn'd tow'rds the shape that came after,
Great Chaucer. As humbly as maiden went he.
Young queens held their diadems of him in fee;
Young mothers and beauties, clear angels of earth;
I know not which grac'd them most, sorrow or mirth.
Great Cervantes was next, fine romance-loving soul
(For his very jest lov'd it), with whom came a shoal
Of such blithe and sweet beauties, some courtly, some nurst
In Arcadia, I thought they were Shakspeare's at first;
But when he came, good lord! what a heaven upon earth
Of young beauty was there! what sweet sorrow and mirth!
What most womanly women! what passion all beauteous
With patience! What love irrepressibly duteous!
What players at boyhood, as sweet as in gown!
What bosoms, where care might for ever lie down!
(For his very jest lov'd it), with whom came a shoal
Of such blithe and sweet beauties, some courtly, some nurst
In Arcadia, I thought they were Shakspeare's at first;
But when he came, good lord! what a heaven upon earth
Of young beauty was there! what sweet sorrow and mirth!
What most womanly women! what passion all beauteous
With patience! What love irrepressibly duteous!
What players at boyhood, as sweet as in gown!
What bosoms, where care might for ever lie down!
- ↑ See it vindicated in a manner at once the most pleasant and affecting in that beautiful book, the "Pentameron" of Mr. Landor
