Art. 3.-THE GINESTRA; OR, THE DESERT FLOWER.* APART from his poetry, which, like the modest flower on the cinder heaps above Pompeii that overlook the beautiful bay of Naples, brought sweetness and some contentment into his seared existence, Leopardi was one of the most unhappy men who have attained celebrity. Doubtless others have had misfortunes. Dante spent long years in exile, Tasso in imprisonment, Milton lost his sight. But these, and others nearly as eminent who have suffered severely, often had a brilliant past to look back upon; they had received good, should they not also receive evil? In the whole course, however, of Leopardi's life anything 'good' in the ordinary sense of the term would be difficult to find. Harsh parents, unsympathising associates, straitened circumstances, physical weakness and ill-health pointing inevitably to early decease, and the settled conviction that the world is governed without regard to individual welfare, constitute the essentially volcanic soil on which sprang 'The Ginestra '-yet within sight of the most enchanting prospects the world can show, mirrored in his imagination. Of this poem, the last and longest among the more important Odes-perhaps also the most famous, at least on the Continent-very little need be said in explanation. With admirable lucidity it discloses, gravely and unhesitatingly, a conception of human affairs which sorrow had forced on the writer. It contains magnificent imagery and is enlivened with striking contrasts and similitudes, the moral inculcated being that men should devote their energies-without striving, each, for an undue share-to mutual assistance in the struggle with Nature, here regarded as our true Antagonist; in short, an idealised socialism. That a work of such high moral authority, power, and poetic beauty has not hitherto been made easily accessible may surprise some who now read it for the first time. This task of translating the principal Odes in Leopardi's 'Canti' being now completed, the writer wishes to thank Dr Mackail for guidance and encouragement when preparing the following version, and also those versions that have already appeared in this Review, and, more recently, in The Fortnightly.' THE GINESTRA. First published in 1845; written during the spring or autumn of 1836, in the year preceding the poet's death, while he was staying at a little house in the country situated on a spur of the mountain overlooking Torre del Greco and the sea. 'And men loved darkness rather than light.'-John iii, 19. Here on the arid spine Of the dread mount Vesevo,* the destroyer, Which other flower or tree delights not, thou, Fragrant Ginestra, joyful in the wild, Scatterest thy solitary tufts around. So, lately, had I found Thy modest blossom, deck those sombre lands And seem with solemn mien A silent memory, the traveller heeds, Here in this waste I meet thee yet again, Lover of sad, forsaken, solitudes, Misfortune's constant friend! These fields that cinders strew Unfruitful, hard o'erspread With lava, echoing to the wanderer's feet; Where in the sun the snake Nestles, or writhes uncoiled, and rabbits make Their wonted burrows-once were pastures gay Gladsome with lowing kine; Gardens and palaces There were, a loved repose Made for the mighty in their hour of ease; Here famous cities rose, Which, thundering, this proud mountain overwhelmed With torrents from her fiery throat aflame, And those who dwelt therein. One ruin now Involves them all, where, gentle flower, thou com'st As if compassionate of other's dole, These deserts to console. * Vesevus, Latin for Vesuvius. L. had recently passed through the Roman Campagna on his way from Florence to Naples. Before this steep Let him then come who would exalt with praise In loving Nature's care Is ours at need. Here he may justly weigh With but a touch can pour. Of human progeny The lofty destinies progressive ever' * Are written on this shore. Here gaze, here see thyself Elate and foolish age, That from the path discerned When thought revived, assigned to us of old, Hast wandered, backward in thy course returned, Dreaming of liberty, thou wouldst enchain In public acts a more humane regard For all may yet be shown. The truth-the bitter lot, The humble place Nature prepared for us- Thy back turned to the light that makes this clear. Or mocked himself, with vile or senseless praise Calls not nor deems himself With wealth and vigour crowned; Nor in the world makes an absurd pretence Of sumptuous life and virile eminence; But, if a beggar in his purse and health, 'Le sorti magnifiche e progressive dell' umanità.' A quotation from Terenzio Mamiani. It occurs in the dedication to the 'Inni Sacri' (1832). And gives to things that matter their true name. But stupid, a frail creature born to die, Who says he lives for joy; And with foul-smelling pride Fills books that promise new felicities And glories all unknown (Not only on this orb But in the very sky,) Here, upon earth, to beings whom a breath Of turbulent ocean, or the rocking soil Great pains will hardly save. A noble heart is his Who dares, with mortal eyes, Look on the common fate; With tongue unbound, nought taking from the truth, Our weak and low estate; One who in suffering is strong and great, That deeper misery, Fraternal ire and hate, Adds not, by charging those of his own kind Whose guilt it truly is, who stands to us It is significant that the same sequence of ideas appears in the Italian, and interesting to compare the effect on Cowper's darkly devotional mind of a similar catastrophe. † Rousseau's theories are here glanced at. For prompt and mutual aid, Expected and accorded in the stress And peril of the war that all must wage; To arm the hand of man against his brother, For mutual injury, Not less infatuate seems than in a camp On their own soldiers levied hateful war Their friends to overthrow.* When thoughts like these, made clear, And that first dread of Nature which combined In part, through wisdom learned; Then civil intercourse upright and fair, Better than haughty myths tradition feigns, With such security as all may see That which on error stands elsewhere attains. Oft on this barren shore Clad as in mourning by the lava's flow, That still a wavelike motion seems to show, I sit at night, and, o'er this wilderness, Austere and cultureless, See the clear stars in deeps Of purest blue come forth, Whereto the sea her mirror turns below; And in this glittering sphere Our universe appear, And vast serene of heaven, and all aglow. Then, on these lights I gaze which to my eyes 1. 71, Bk. II, 'The Task.' And 'tis but seemly that, where all deserve To what no few have felt, there should be peace, |