372 THE SANCTUARIES OF TUSCANY. 



Or the clear air with sounds melodious fill, 

 She speaks a language with instruction fraught, 

 And Art from Nature steals her mimic skill, 

 Whose birds, whose rills, whose sighing winds are taught 

 That sounds can charm the soul, and rouse each noble thought." 



The eulogy on my friend Campbell cannot but elevate him ; not 

 because it is deserved, but from the hand that gives the wreath. It 

 is, however, not more elegant, as coming from her ladyship, than 

 justly merited on his part; for few have so much of the true and 

 olden character of a poet about them as the Bard of Hope : 

 e< Bard of my country, clansman of my race, 

 How proudly do I call thee one of mine ! 

 Perchance thou wilt not deem it a disgrace, 

 Though with my verse thy name I should entwine. 

 It is not writ in borrow'd wreath to shine, 

 Or catch reflected ray from light of fame ; 

 But a strong feeling I may scarce define, 

 Of Scotia's pride, and Friendship's mingled flame, 

 Within my bosom glows, while writing Campbell's name." 



The legendary and historical notices of Camaldoli afford more of a 

 story than those of Valombrosa ; but with this portion of her lady- 

 ship's work I am less interested than with her own poetical creations. 

 The character of the composition is the same as that of the other : 

 indeed it is only a part of the same poem, though the subject is ap- 

 parently distinct. The same tone of reflective feeling pervades it ; 

 the same occasional picturesque quaintness may be seen, and the 

 same overflowing sensibility. The subsequent stanza, as an inadver- 

 tent effusion, is deserving of particular notice : 



" I could have lov'd with such a loyal heart 



With such a firm, unchanging tenderness 



And acted all Devotion's hallowing part, 



Whether in hours of gladness or distress 



Height'ning each joy making each anguish less 



Watching the wish untold, the glancing eye 



Feeling the pure and perfect happiness 



(When in my sway the blessed power did lie) 

 Of giving bliss the bosom's noblest ecstasy." 



But the charm of the poem of Camaldoli is in the incidental lay of 

 the " Wanderer." It has an air of truth in the sentiments very im- 

 pressive ; and, though short and simple, calculated to produce almost 

 a feeling of delicate pain. It is a theme of feeling, and it would be 

 unjust to attempt to awaken any emotion akin to what it cannot fail 

 to produce. I abstain from quoting it on this account; besides, 

 there are here and there little gleams of fancy thrown in to preserve 

 poetical consistency which mar, perhaps, the impression of the ori- 

 ginal affecting conception of the lay ; sprinklings of pathos inter- 



