THE SANCTUARIES OF TUSCANY 371 



felicitous and touching, and conceived in a true spirit of simpli- 

 city : 



" There's not a gentle mind that loves to claim 



Kindred with feeling, fancy, poesy, 



Who hath not heard of Valombrosa's name 



Which falls upon the ear harmoniously, 



And seems by chartered privilege to be 



A shrine where, second to religious rite, 



Imagination's votaries willingly 



Pay a glad homage of intense delight, 

 While round their brows her varied leaves they dight." 



But there is a slight touch of antique quaintness in the following 

 verses that is perhaps superior ; to me it is very pleasing : 



" A spell of sweet endearment in the place 



Twines round the souls of those who sojourn there j 



It has a wooing charm, serene in grace, 



Like dame who gracefully the garb doth wear, 



Of matron quiet and domestic care ; 



A gentle dignity, a placid smile, 



A chastened loveliness, withouten glare, 



That can the troubled thought from sense beguile, 

 Bid thoughts of peace return, and memory sleep the while." 



This is the very whispering of the local genius of Valombrosa, and 

 might be quoted as a happy illustration of the feeling with which 

 inspiration has been caught in the scene. But a little further on 

 there is an impassioned stanza that will as much surprise the reader, 

 who was not before, like ourselves, aware of Lady Charlotte Bury's 

 poetical talent : 



" And she who loved him whom he loved for her 

 The sun is rayless and the moon is flown ; 

 The light of life is darkened not a stir 

 In her stopp'd pulse gives anguish power to moan ; 

 All sense, even sense of grief, seems turned to stone, 

 And happy were it could it ne'er return ; 

 But sad existence burdensome and lone, 

 Flings a dull current from its chilling urn 

 Again she wakes, she breathes, again her heartstrings burn." 



This is fine ; and I know not, in the works of any modern poet, 

 that the following would not be a gem : 



" Deep secret springs lie buried in man's heart, 

 Which Nature's varied aspect works at will; 

 Whether bright hues or shadows she impart, 

 Or fragrant odours from her breath distil, 



